


Just a Dragon standing in front of a Princess

by bzzkcrackle



Category: The Devil Wears Prada (2006)
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/F, Fluff, Notting Hill AU, Romance, You've Got Mail AU, also an attempt at humor?, basically just a mishmash of romcoms really
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-07
Updated: 2020-07-22
Packaged: 2021-03-05 05:48:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 24,342
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25119406
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bzzkcrackle/pseuds/bzzkcrackle
Summary: Andy Sachs is a half-bookstore owner/ half-journalist whose humdrum existence is thrown into romantic turmoil when famous Runway editor Miranda Priestly appears in her shop. On top of that they've been anonymously e-mailing each other. You get the formula.Just a mishmash of romcoms nobody asked for.
Relationships: Miranda Priestly/Andrea Sachs
Comments: 177
Kudos: 339





	1. panduhhh

**Author's Note:**

> So, I was sad the other day and I needed an escape. Which came in the form of Netflix. Then two of my favorite romcoms appeared in the suggestions. I picked a bunch of arcs from either and smooshed them together, so here we are. 
> 
> This doesn't have a beta so I apologize in advance for any mistakes. Also, I haven't been to New York, so if I misappropriated stuff from my cursory Google maps exploration, please tell me.
> 
> Disclaimer: Any familiar elements referencing any of the aforementioned works of fiction are not my own, and belong to their respective copyright holders. No profit whatsoever. Unless self-amusement (and hopefully the readers' too) is profit, in which case I'll have to pay my dues.

**From** : panduhhh  
 **To** : coffee_thatsall  
 **Date** : September 21, 2006 (9:35PM)  
 **Subject** : Unsettling

> Okay, listen to this. There's a bagel shop just around the corner from where I live, and every night, a huge truck pumps tons of flour to underground tanks. It always leaves this cloud of white that never seems to settle. Why is that?

**From** : coffee_thatsall  
 **To** : panduhhh  
 **Date** : September 22, 2006 (10:47AM)  
 **Subject** : Pings

> Just the other day I've read about a butterfly being trapped in an elevator. And would you believe it? At work today, as I got on inside the car, a butterfly joined me! What are the odds? It got off the 10th floor, the Finance division of all places, probably going to pick a bone with the budgets they're allocating. It's atrocious really.
> 
> Anyway, don't you just love the ping of elevators? It’s like a new day dawning. Almost transformative. But it has to be just that one ‘ _ping'_ , you know. Which is why I never share my elevator car.

Of course, Andy has read _her_ magazine, and she's always thought it well… fabulous. But you know, a million million “miles” from the world she lives in… which is ironically, also here, in Manhattan, her favorite bit of New York.

There’s the Union Square market, selling every fruit and vegetable known to man. The tattoo parlor with the guy outside who got drunk and now can’t remember why he chose “I love Ken”. The radical hairdressers where everyone comes out looking like the Cookie Monster whether they’d want to or not. And then suddenly it’s the weekend, and from break of day hundreds of stalls appear out of nowhere filling 9th Avenue from 42nd to 57th street. And wherever you look thousands people are buying millions of antiques… some genuine, and some not quite so genuine.

What’s great is that her friends have also ended up in this part of the city. There’s Nate for example, boyfriend turned ex-boyfriend, who recently got hired as sous chef in a new restaurant. There’s Lily, artist turned curator for a small gallery. There's Doug too, who worked elsewhere at Wall Street but frequented the area just the same.

And so, this is where she spends her days and years, in a small village in the middle of the city, in a small brownstone apartment her mother bought when she left Andy’s father. Where she now leads a strangely content life, with a cat for a lodger, as Helena Sachs went on a months long cruise to the Caribbean Islands.

It was just another happy Saturday that she walked the block through the market to work, never knowing it was the day that was going to change her life forever.

This was work by the way, her mother's little children's bookshop. Which… sells children's books. And to be frank, doesn't always sell much of those. Still, it was a cheerful bit of quiet in a dizzying city, and while far removed from the fabulousness which she spoke of, it was still spectacular.

“Good morning, Anna,” Andy chirped, finding the college student she employed part time already waiting for her at the front of the shop.

“Good morning, Andy,” the girl intoned.

“It's a beautiful day,” she blubbered, unlocking the doors, “Isn't it just the most beautiful day?”

“I guess,” Anna shrugged, already used to her cheerful employer.

“Don't you just love New York when it's almost Fall?” Andy continued, as she flicked on the lights, illuminating the cozy setting of her little haven.

There was the little nook in the corner where she read books to kids in the neighborhood in a once weekly performance as Storybook Lady. There was a little mezzanine floor upstairs with cozy bean bags where visitors could drink tea or coffee. Goofy Halloween decorations – much to the eye-rolling of Anna – were only halfway strung… It felt like a nice Grandma's home, which was basically her mom, without the grandkids, and she gave the bell on the counter a silly ping as she made her way to the back to start coffee.

“Don't you just love that ping?” she said, taking out a fresh bag of beans, “ _Ping… ping_ , like an elevator.”

“Um, an elevator?” Anna repeated, thinking maybe she wasn't used to her weird employer after all, “Are you okay?”

“It's nothing!” Andy said with a chuckle, “Hm, don't you just love the sound of beans grinding?” she added, leaning close to the machine.

“The grinder?” the girl said incredulously, “Okay, what's up? Are you seeing someone?” She followed it up with a disgusted grunt, “You're in love.”

“What, no!” she exclaimed, as she levelled a scoop of grounds, “Wait, maybe I am. With coffee! Who wouldn't be in love with coffee?”

Anna followed Andy with a look as she chuckled at the cutlery, “What is going on?”

“Nothing, nothing… nothing at all,” the woman sing-sang.

“Okay, you know what, I’m just gonna stand here until you tell me, because clearly I'm going to subject to this… _sunniness_ for the rest of the day, and it's totally gonna crimp my style.”

“There's no crimping…” a threatening pierced eyebrow was raised at her, “Oh, alright. Is it weird if you get involved with someone over e-mail?”

“ _E-mail?_ What is this the 90s?”

Andy rolled her eyes as she set down the cream, “Well, on my birthday, I just wandered to this… chat group, as a joke, sort of, and they were there, and we just began chatting.”

“ _They?”_ Anna's gender studies major was showing and Andy just shrugged.

“Well, yeah. We don't talk of anything personal. Just books, and music, and how much we love New York,” she grinned absently, “Bouquets of red pens…”

“Excuse me?”

Andy chuckled, “It's just meaningless. Meaningless. Harmless, really.”

“Harmless, right,” Anna said, as she arranged a pile of coloring books, “Weren't we just talking about that _Craig's list_ murderer last week?”

“It's not _Craig's list_ ,” Andy rolled her eyes, “Besides, I'm thinking of stopping, because it's getting…”

“Out of hand?”

“… confusing,” she huffed, “But it's nothing. I don't even know their name, where they live, what they do for work. So really, it’s gonna be easy for me to stop seeing them. Because I'm ‘not’.”

“You know they could be anybody?” Anna said, arranging the last copy of ‘ _My Book of Doodling and Coloring'_ in place, “They could be next person who walks in through the door!”

“I know!” Andy laughed as she stared at the coffee percolate. The aroma was so enticing, she thinks she could live with this alone for the rest of her days. Coffee. That's all. She giggled to herself. Anna just groaned at her once more, before moving to grab her wallet.

“You know what, that's gonna go great with bagels,” her employee said, “I'm gonna get some from the corner.”

“Sure,” Andy grinned

“Want any?”

“Nah.” There was only a grunt in reply as the girl left.

‘ _Could be the next person who walks in through the door, indeed,’_ Andy thought to herself. It was totally nothing. Like she said. But what's funny was that she found her “friend" from an online divorce forum of all places. They could be a divorcé or a divorcée… or about to be, for that matter. Or they could just be another lurker like Andy was.

Of course, parents divorcing never forebode an easy life for an only child such as she, but her mom and dad have parted ways very amiably and shared custody over her throughout her life.

Until moving to Illinois for college, most of her year was spent in Ohio with her lawyer father, while summers were spent here with her mother. It was easy to decide where she'd land after finishing at Northwestern.

Sure, she wasn’t chasing the crime beat yet or untangling political intrigue, and being a cheery narrator was a very long way from becoming a hard nosed journalist… still, a fairly stable income for a job-hunting fresh graduate such as she, was something to be grateful for. In the meantime, she's building up a portfolio via online submissions and freelancing… with half-hearted efforts getting started on her proverbial great American novel, to make the most of this time off.

Anyway, she had an idea for an article about divorce laws in the country, and was just there browsing as “panduhhh", until an innocuous comment from a “coffee_thatsall" caught her attention, and that's that. They’ve moved on from IMs to e-mailing, and it's been a funny few months of anecdotes and observations. So… _harmless_ , really.

She was thinking of booting up her laptop to send an email before the day got hectic, but only a few minutes later, the bell by the door jangled open, and Andy had to smile at the prospect of a customer so early in the day.

“Good morning!” Andy called out from the back, as she filled her usual mug with the fragrant beverage. There was no response as she made her way to the counter, eager to serve, and found that their visitor was a woman. She was carrying a few bags, probably from the market out front.

“Can I help you at all?” she asked, smile firmly plastered on her face. Again, the customer ignored her, and her grin only fell a tad as she observed the person standing between the shelves browsing their classics collection.

There was something about the way the stranger stood that spoke of gravitas. She had on a black beret that was artfully angled on a white head of hair. Huge sunglasses sat on a aquiline nose that was distinctive in her profile. She did not take them off even while reading the summary of a Roald Dahl classic, which was odd and niggled something at Andy's brain. The rest of the woman's outfit felt like an attempt at being casual, but the cashmere beige of her sweater was a far cry from Andy's own wooly blue one.

“We also have a collection of Newbery's in the shelf over,” she offered. Her half a grin froze on her face as the woman finally turned to peer at Andy over the sunglasses, and that is when she realized… _Oh_.

Miranda Priestly was in her shop.

She was glad that she was able to resist her natural tendency to blab when nervous, until Miranda finally made her way to place two copies of the book she'd been perusing on the counter. It was James and the Giant Peach, one of her favorites, and she finally shook herself from her little star struck moment to smile brightly again.

“I love this one,” she said, as she took the credit card Miranda handed over. “’ _I look and smell… as lovely as rose!’_ ” Andy quoted in high pitched voice. The woman only raised an eyebrow at her attempt at humor.

Unfazed, Andy just rolled her eyes good-naturedly, and bagged the purchase before cheekily dropping in a bookmark shaped like a peach for good measure. Miranda eyed her head-to-toe appraisingly as she took the bag. And to Andy's surprise…

“’ _But don't forget how much your tummy shows,’”_ she croaked in a very apt characterization of Aunt Spiker. As Andy's jaw dropped, a mean little smirk appeared on the woman's lips before she sashayed out of the shop.

_Did she just–?_ Andy goggled. _Did Miranda Priestly just make a fat joke?_ She was still gaping at the door when Anna returned smelling like bagels.

“Oh man, I forgot my pumpernickels!” the girl grumbled, as she rummaged through her paper bag. Andy finally shook herself from her reverie to look at Anna.

“You would not believe who just walked in earlier.”

“Was it someone famous?” Anna said, still frowning even as she bit into her onion bagel. The smell was very enticing, and Andy had to regard her aforementioned tummy that was now rumbling. _It was hardly showing, thank you very much,_ she rolled her eyes inwardly.

“Nah, probably just thought it was…” she replied, “I think I'm gonna get one of those. I’ll grab you your pumpernickels too.”

“Y’know, I think I'd rather pair this with orange juice.”

“Alright then.”

So, determined to get her beautiful day back on track, she grabbed her wallet and made her way to the little bagel shop in the corner. Her five-minute brush with celebrity was just that, so she defiantly added ham and cream cheese to her own onion bagel, and triumphantly bit into it as she walked out of the shop.

It was turning out to be one of those days though, because while grinning distractedly at a bunch of corgis being walked, she did not see the other distracted person rounding the corner as she was. They collided, and she watched in slow motion as the cream cheese and grease of her breakfast was smeared against a familiar cashmere sweater… along with the horrifying orange of Anna's beverage.

Jaw dropping in so many times in less than an hour, she was speechless as Miranda Priestly looked down on her ruined clothing.

“You imbecile!”

“Oh my God!”

Andy was not thinking as she whipped out the napkin she had managed to hold on to, intending to wipe the mess she had made, “I'm so sorry, I–”

“If you come anywhere near me, I swear to God…” the woman hissed, Andy jumped back as the woman swiped the napkin from her hand.

“I’m so sorry, Ms. Pries–” her words died on her throat as she was silenced again by a glare so piercing despite the sunglasses, and that is when Andy realized they were probably attracting attention. It would not take long for anybody to recognize the fashionista.

“I'm really sorry, I wasn't–”

“Clearly,” the woman cut her off, wiping ineffectually at her sweater.

“Look, I literally live across the street. I have soap and water, and you can get cleaned up–”

“Did you smack your head on the pavement?” Miranda snarled at her, turning to the phone on her hand to dial a number. They both heard it beep dead, and the woman snapped it shut with a growl.

“I have a phone as well,” Andy offered apologetically. She watched Miranda look up and down the street looking for a cab, but the streets were closed down because of the weekend market.

“I’m really sorry. Please let me help,” Andy said sincerely, sidestepping to block the view of a man who seemed intent on taking out his phone. Miranda saw the motion and appeared to be weighing the risk of being tabloid fodder versus submitting herself to the mercy of the stranger who assaulted her, before she let out a harsh exhale.

“What do you mean you live across the street?” she hissed, “Give it to me in yards.”

“About 30 yards? When we round the corner, it's just there, a brownstone with the blue door.”

Finally, Miranda gave a deep sigh and jerked her head for Andy to lead the way.

\---

“Here, let me…” her offer to take the woman's coat died on her throat as Miranda whipped out her sunglasses and just glared at her. Andy froze. _So blue._ She did not think she's ever seen eyes so blue. Blushing at that inopportune commentary by her brain, she cleared her throat.

“Right, um, the guest bathroom is just down the hall. You can find whatever you need in the cabinet…” Andy trailed off as some of the bags were thrust her way save for one JCrew paper bag. “P-phone's right here…”

Miranda ignored her as she stalked towards the direction she pointed to, and Andy finally let out the breath she did not realize she had been holding. Shaking her head, she placed down the woman's shopping on a nearby bureau, and went to her own room to change.

Unsure how to take in the events that have transpired, Andy stood fidgeting with the fold of the button-down shirt she changed into as she waited for her sudden guest to emerge. She wondered if it was possible for someone to be blacklisted before they've even made it to publishing. But it's not like Miranda knew her aspirations, or her name for that matter. Nonetheless –

Her brain stopped into a halt as Miranda finally appeared from the corner with her coat draped on her arm. She was wearing an A-line embroidered midi dress that brought out the blue of her eyes, and showcased her arms that had no business being that toned at her age… or any age for that matter. The beret was gone and the iconic white hair was a like a beacon bringing the entire ensemble together _very_ attractively.

Andy felt her face warm when the woman raised an eyebrow at her staring. She had to clear her throat again. “P-phone’s right there…” she stuttered, trying not to look when Miranda passed by her to get to the device. But of course the light perfume that wafted by beckoned Andy to follow with her gaze and– _Get a grip, man!_

Shakily, she ambled towards the direction of the kitchen to get a glass of water as Miranda rang for her driver. _Of course, she'd be attractive, she runs a fashion magazine for God's sake._

When she returned, Andy found Miranda sitting on the sofa with her coat artfully draped over her shoulders – _Was it part of the job description to make every motion like a painting?_ If Andy did not know any better, she would think that the sunlight that filtered just right through her windows was orchestrated.

“Would you like anything to drink while you wait, Ms. Priestly?”

“ _Miranda._ ”

“Right, um… Miranda?”

“No.”

“Coffee? Tea? Water?” Andy sounded like a very nervous flight attendant.

“No."

“Orange juice?” Blue eyes narrowed at her.

“Right, um… some other fruit then? I have grape juice, I think.”

“No.”

“How about a snack? Something to nibble? Peaches soaked in honey?” Lips began pursing, so there it was, the blabbing. “Quite why, no one knows, because it stops them tasting of peaches and makes them taste like honey, and if you wanted honey you'd just buy honey instead of peaches,” her voice grew smaller and smaller at the non-response, but she'd made an ass of herself now anyway, “Nevertheless… um, they're yours if you want.”

“No.”

“D-do you always say ‘no’ to everything?”

Blue eyes narrowed further, “ _No.”_

Effectively put down, Andy decided that clamming up was now more prudent, and so, seconds ticked by in silence. She noticed Miranda's eyes carefully taking in the overflowing bookcase against the wall – which was nothing to be conscious about as she obviously owned a bookstore… the gaze was drawn to the top shelf which was the only uncluttered area in the collection. A glass paneled place of honor, housing a set of the Bobbsey twins books, two of which were the 1904 first editions.

“My mother and I collect them,” she offered, thinking perhaps she could talk about those instead of the peaches, which were a real low point, and will beat herself up over it later. “Well, my grandmother before that. Because she also had two sets of twins. I mean she even called my mom, ‘Nan', well, Helena… but, um–” the doorbell rang, interrupting her monologue, and she let out a breath as Miranda stood up from her seat.

“Right, so…” she walked the woman to the door, and watched her put on her sunglasses.

She fidgeted again as another sweeping motion of the head assessed her. Involuntarily, she sucked in a barely there stomach, but of course Miranda noticed and the same little smirk as earlier appeared. She opened the door for herself as Andy remained frozen, and walked out without even a single ‘thank you'.

When the door clicked shut, Andy finally exhaled – _What the hell just happened?_ She shook her head, moving to grab her keys, and that is when she realized the woman forgot one of her bags: the books she just purchased from Andy's bookshop.

**\---**

The evening of that encounter, Andy decided to send the pair of forgotten books instead. Of course, she felt insulted, but an honest shopkeeper she still was, and Miranda had paid for her purchases in full. Still, she was not without indignation as she bought a bunch of peaches from the market, and stress baked them with honey and cinnamon over night as she vented to herself about the rude woman.

Ungrateful little piece of work she was, she wasn’t looking where she was going too! And insulting Andy's figure with merely a sweep of her eyes? With that smirk? _Sexy, infuriating smirk– Hold on a second!_

And that was another thing to beat herself up over, finding the older woman attractive. Because of course she had to be, being the “one most important arbiter of beauty" in the world. At least it said that from her fevered internet browsing to get a know how on the woman.

It did not help much though, because Miranda’s resume was impressive. Youngest editor-in-chief in the history of Runway, bringing it out of obscurity to the limelight… yada yada. Of course, Andy has read the magazine. Even if fashion did not exactly fall into her rubric of interests, it was still a vital institution in the publishing business.

Married twice before she wed her current husband, a Stephen Tomlinson, high profile moneybags. “Dragon Lady”… “Ice Queen” – now those she would have predictably agreed with, what of their short “acquaintance,” but her feminism colored her annoyance, and begrudgingly decided to take the monikers with a grain of salt. The woman quoted children's books after all, even if it was to insult, and she had twins too apparently. Which explained the interest in the Bobbsey twins.

So that is why, Andy found herself irately positioning her baked peaches in a small Tupperware to send with the books. Her own Midwestern way of rising above… she thought it would be clever to leave it with no note so that the woman could stew about being rude the next time. _Ha! Take that!_

She bundled it off neatly for a courier in the morning, thinking that to be the end of her interaction with Miranda Priestly. And after getting in the last word too, if she did say so herself.

But of course, as it was for most comedy of errors, that was never going to be the end of it.

* * *

**From** : panduhhh  
 **To** : coffee_thatsall  
 **Date** : October 19, 2006 (8:16 AM)  
 **Subject** : Some Pig

> Confession: I have read Charlotte's Web so many times. I just want to hang out at that barn with Wilbur and Charlotte. And I never fail to cry when Charlotte dies. I mean why? Read it. I know you'll love it.

**From** : coffee_thatsall  
 **To** : panduhhh  
 **Date** : October 20, 2006 (7:03 AM)  
 **Subject** : Tall decaf cappucino

> I have to make a million decisions per day at work, and it just occurred to me that for the average person with no decision-making ability whatsoever only has that burden whittled down to a minimum of six decisions daily. Particularly, if it's just to buy one cup of coffee.
> 
> Short, tall, light, dark, caf, decaf, low-fat, non-fat, etc. So people who don't know what on earth they're doing or who on earth they are _can_ , for only $2.95, get not just a cup of coffee but an absolutely defining sense of self: Tall. Decaf. Cappuccino.

“One tall decaf cappucino, and one tall caramel macchiato for Andy!”

Smiling to herself, Andy went to the counter to retrieve her beverage and made her way to the bookshop maintaining that same “sunniness.” She did not know if it was dumb luck, but some of the articles she submitted online gained some attention, and that got her an interview at The New York Mirror, a smaller circulation than The Times of course, but a really good starting point nevertheless. Especially for a newbie like her.

She'd probably be a lackey for a good few weeks, but there's pay and the opportunity to shadow is priceless. Besides her mom has called that she'd be arriving during the weekend so it's all gonna be tied up neatly on the shop front.

When Anna saw her smiling as she arrived, she groaned in pretense at Andy's cheerfulness before taking the proffered beverage that her employer handed.

“Your online paramour again?” the girl asked, as she followed Andy inside.

“There's no paramour,” Andy blushed, “It's just a friendly exchange!”

“So, what is it this time? A bouquet of Sharpies?”

“No,” Andy rolled her eyes, “Just decisions and coffee,” she murmured lowly. But Anna heard and raised an eyebrow at her.

“Is that why the Starbucks?” she asked, as she took a sip of her free macchiato, “I thought you hated Starbucks. Over-roasted beans and all.”

“I don't hate Starbucks,” she denied, “I just wanted to make a decision or something…”

“Riiiight.”

“Anna…”

“What, all I'm saying is–” there was a rap at the door just as she flipped the sign open, and both of them saw a pair of grinning redheaded twins waving at them from outside.

“Hey guys,” Anna greeted them.

“Hey Anna!”

“Hello, Caroline, Cassidy!” Andy said, high fiving them both as they were ushered inside by their nanny, whom she also greeted, “Hello, Cara!”

“Hey Andy!”

The girls immediately hurtled for the tiny mezzanine floor upstairs, while Andy and Cara shared small grins before the latter went on up to follow her charges.

The little 10-year old customers have been frequenting her shop for the past few weeks. They first walked in during one Storybook Lady time, faces painted with whiskers, as a harried Cara, followed inside with an assortment of balloons and stuffed toys, evidently having just came from a fun day out at the weekend fair.

They chattered about their visits with their dad being cancelled, so they had to stay with their mom. And Andy realized she had more in common with those two than just a love for books, so she and Anna welcomed them daily for a few hours after school just hanging out, as the rest of the shop went on about their day's business.

This weekend, they were back again so early, so that probably meant they were left again to their own devices without a parent around.

“Hey, Andy!” Caroline said from above her, head poking through the balusters, “Do you have a copy of Charlotte's Web?”

“That's my favorite! Of course, I do!”

“Cool! We're gonna buy a copy for mom, she said she's gonna read it with us tonight.”

“You know what, since you've been very loyal customers, I'm gonna give you copies for free. How's that sound?”

“Really?! Thank you, Andy!!!”

“Thank you, Andy!” chimed Cassidy's disembodied voice from behind her sister.

Andy chuckled, waving them off. “You're welcome. I'm heading to the back to do some inventory, have fun!”

“Yup!”

“Later!”

She gave them a tiny wave as she picked up her coffee, and also waved at Anna who grunted at her from behind the counter.

\---

Andy was halfway through cooking the books, so to speak, when a text from Lily came through. She was inviting her to a small party as a plus one, and Andy was usually game so she sent her acquiescence. Networking was never a bad thing, and she was always looking for something new to learn everyday. She didn't know if the future fluff pieces she'd be made to write as a cub reporter would come in the form of exhibits, so an acquaintance in art circles would come in handy.

Her phone rang a few minutes later, and she answered. “Dress code?” she said in lieu of a greeting.

“Casual formal-ish. But not too casual,” Lily said, “I better not see that blue sweater or else.”

“Please.”

“Girl, I can never tell with you these days,” At this, Andy rolled her eyes even if her friend could not see her, “Right so, 7? I'll pick you up at your place. Cab's my shout.”

“It better be.”

“Bye.”

“Bye.”

Andy left Anna to close up shop so she could get ready, and picked up a few oranges to nibble on while she waited. She could never tell what kind of nourishment she’d be getting from the soirees Lily dragged her to after all.

At 630, she was already dressed in a safe LBD with her make up on the lighter side, leaving the lipstick for later. She sucked on a slice of her citrusy snack as she went through her emails, and a small grin appeared around the rind when she found one from her online penpal.

**From** : coffee_thatsall  
 **To** : panduhhh  
 **Date** : October 20, 2006 (5:18 PM)  
 **Subject** : Pets

> My darling Patricia, a huge St. Bernard, just came back from the groomers. I don't know why I even bother, my girl just went right ahead to my backyard and rolled over the grass until she came out looking like Oscar the Grouch's less grumpy sister.

She giggled as she imagined a goofy dog wagging its tail in excitement, while its owner groaned in exasperation. She hurriedly typed in a short reply, just as Lily texted her ETA.

**From** : panduhhh   
**To** : coffee_thatsall  
 **Date** : October 20, 2006 (6:40 PM)  
 **Subject** : RE: Pets

> That's adorable. I have a cat named Bunny myself, who's a white Ragdoll, and _very_ prim and proper. She's always grooming herself, so I’m unfamiliar with goofy fluffballs such as yours. *smirk* How old is Patricia now?

She sent it off just as her doorbell rung, and she hurriedly powered down her laptop before buzzing Lily in.

“It's open, come on in!” she called out from the bedroom when knocking came. Andy put on final touches to the barely there lipstick she applied, and grabbed her purse to submit herself to Lily's assessment.

“No, blue sweaters,” she said pointedly 

“So you decided no other colors too?”

“Hey! This is totally classic…”

“And safe,” Lily tutted, “But it'll do. C'mon!”

\---

The soiree turned out to be at Vince Palmer's, Lily's boss, whom Andy has met many times during gallery openings, and she congratulated him warmly on the award he was receiving. As the three of them chatted, Andy felt the prickle of a gaze being thrown her way, but when she swept her eyes around, she wasn't able to identify who'd been staring.

When their host set them free to mingle, she and Lily single-mindedly headed for the bar .

“Can I have a white wine please?” she smiled at the bartender

“I'll have a red,” Lily added from beside her.

Before the man could get to the bottles, a tall older man suddenly arrived, jostling them both against the counter. The smell of liquor in his breath had Lily and Andy side-eyeing each other, and they stepped back from the man none too subtly.

“Bourbon rocks, fresh glass,” he said, thrusting his empty crystal towards the bartender. Andy saw the server glance at them briefly before she gave him a small nod in permission for him to deal with the new arrival first.

“Who was that?” she whispered at Lily, when they finally got their drinks.

“Hell if I know,” Lily shrugged, “Probably a friend of Vince's or something.” She distractedly waved at somebody behind Andy before turning back to her. “Leave in an hour?” she asked.

“Sure.” And then with a pat to her arm, her date went off to greet whoever it was she needed to interact with. She’d like to think she has perfected the art of being a wallflower without appearing to be so, and so ambled around the penthouse until she could find some point of interest.

As she stepped out to the balcony, her attention was caught by raised voices.

“Who're you telling to calm down, huh?” She recognized the drunk man from the bar, sloshing his drink as he loomed over another familiar man. A woman was trying to restrain Mr. Smelly Breath with hushed pleas, and her heart stuttered to a stop as she realized it was Miranda Priestly. Again. Here of all places. She groaned inwardly.

She should really have retreated but her feet disobeyed her and she found herself walking towards the small party. _Fuck it._

“Mr. Toobin? Hi, I'm Andy Sachs” Andy interrupted, not knowing where she got the gumption, “Oh my god, I hope you'll forgive me for just barging in,” she pressed a hand to her breast as she passed an apologetic glance at Miranda and the drunk. She was sure she caught a flash of recognition on the editor's face before she turned back to the man she ambushed, “But I read your series on Moussaoui's verdict, and I’m such a fan…”

The blubbering more or less was genuine, as Jeffrey Toobin was indeed one of her idols, but it did provide ample distraction for Miranda who was finally able to lead the other man away. Her awed grin didn't falter as Mr. Toobin took the bait and engaged her in conversation.

It was a very enlightening talk during which she was able to hold her own, and she'd ended up with the man's card at the end of it. After they shook hands, she was finally able to let out an exhale and blindly made her back to the kitchen to get some food.

She did not know what the punishment was for having witnessed Miranda Priestly's embarrassment twice in a row now, but she sure hoped the woman would be grateful as hell this time. Andy risked impertinence and her future intentions on journalism after all.

She was carving a piece of roast beef for herself when a presence materialized beside her, and she timidly glanced at them, to find it to be none other than woman she'd been thinking of. Miranda was staring at her unreadably, and Andy's face colored in response. _Maybe not so grateful after all…?_

“You're welcome,” she mumbled defensively at the continued scrutiny.

“Excuse me?” Miranda glared at her, so of course, she instinctively glared back. “I don’t know who you think you are–”

“Just the person who saved your bacon twice in a row now.”

The look which followed could have peeled the skin off of Andy's face. “I do not know what you're playing at, _Andy_ Sachs–” Shit, so she did catch her name, “– but you did not fool me with your little ingénue display a while ago.”

“Listen–”

“From what I gather, you're an aspiring journalist? So you must be aware that _I_ have the power to make or break you in this industry.” Andy paled at this, and whatever retort she had for the woman died in her throat helplessly. Miranda stepped very close to her then, she could almost make out the golden specks in her stormy blue eyes as she trembled.

“So if I catch a whiff of _any_ of this, from any of the gutter snipes you must be in cahoots with. I. Will. End. You,” the woman said menacingly. A red lacquered fingertip was jabbed at her in conclusion before Miranda stepped back and swept away in a dizzying cloud of Chanel No. 5 and anger.

Letting out a huge exhale, she dropped the carving fork she did not realize she'd still been holding. With her appetite already lost, she went off to find Lily so she could make her exit. However, just as she was exiting the kitchen, Vince caught her with a curious look on his face.

“Andy, was that Miranda Priestly I just saw you talking to just now?” he asked, eyebrows raised.

“Well, yes,” she stared at him confusedly, “Wasn't she invited?”

Vince let out an amused laugh, which only grated at her nerves, “Of course she was! Stephen is an old college buddy of mine.”

“Stephen?”

“Her husband? I thought I glimpsed you out with them in the balcony a while ago.”

“Oh,” she said, realization finally dawning. Some of her ire evaporated, but not enough to stop her from wanting to punch something. “Yeah, yeah.”

“Anyway, Miranda?” Vince raised an eyebrow at her, “I did not realize you were acquainted.”

“Just very tangentially,” she waved him off, “Are they still around?”

“Ah, no. Left just a few minutes ago,” Vince frowned, before he lowered his voice, “Between you and me, Stephen needed a lie down, if you know what I mean.”

She inwardly rolled her eyes at the gossipy nature of that remark, and it put more context to Miranda's very dire warning. “I wouldn't know, Vince,” she said noncommittally, “And speaking of, I should get going as well.”

“So soon?”

“Yes, busy day tomorrow,” she gave him a half-smile as he nodded, “Congratulations again, Vince.”

“Thank you, dearest. Have Lily invite you to the retrospective next week, yes?”

“Of course. Good night.”

She found Lily at the living room, engaged in a small debate about Banksy or some such, and excused them both as she pulled her friend to the side.

“I've got to go, Lils,” she murmured.

“But it's only been 45 minutes!”

“Yeah, um, cramps.” Of course Lily saw through that, and pursed her lips. “I'll explain tomorrow? Please?”

“Oh, alright. But you'll owe me brunch.”

Too much in turmoil to be indignant, she shrugged in acceptance and gave her friend a small hug. ‘ _I'll call,’_ she mouthed while miming a telephone with one hand. Lily gave her a short nod before shooing her away.

\---

**From** : coffee_thatsall  
 **To** : panduhhh  
 **Date** : October 21, 2006 (12:08 AM)  
 **Subject** : In case you were wondering, I'm not perfect

> Do you ever feel you've become the worst version of yourself? That a Pandora's box of all the secret, hateful parts – your arrogance, your spite, your condescension – has sprung open? Someone helps you, and instead of smiling and being thankful, you zing them? “Hello, it's Ms. Nasty." I'm sure you have no idea what I'm talking about.

**From** : panduhhh  
 **To** : coffee_thatsall  
 **Date** : October 21, 2006 (3:12 AM)  
 **Subject** : RE: In case you were wondering, I'm not perfect

> No, I know what you mean, and I'm completely jealous! What happens to me when I'm provoked is that I get tongue-tied and my mind goes blank. Then I spend all night tossing and turning trying to figure out what I should have said. What should I have said, for example, to a high-strung _shrew_ who recently belittled my existence?
> 
> Nothing. Even now, a day later, I can't figure it out.

**From** : coffee_thatsall  
 **To** : panduhhh  
 **Date** : October 21, 2006 (5:02 AM)  
 **Subject** : RE: RE: In case you were wondering, I'm not perfect

> Wouldn't it be wonderful if I could pass all my zingers to you? And then I would _never_ behave badly and you could behave badly all the time, and we'd both be happy. But then, on the other hand, I must warn you that when you finally have the pleasure of saying the thing you mean to say at the moment you mean to say it, remorse inevitably follows. (Then again, I've rarely felt remorseful lately.)

In bed that morning, Andy was chewing on her thumbnail as she contemplated her reply.

_So that was Stephen Tomlinson_ , she thought, now that she had calmed down some. She ought to be angry really, but like she said her mind was still blank of what she might have said in retort to Miranda Priestly's aspersions.

Did she really accuse her of cavorting with the paparazzi? After calling her fat last month? Andy did not even know why she bothered at all last night!

But then she remembered the hushed pleas, and even if she was a stranger, Andy knew that Miranda was not somebody who _pleaded_. Married three times now-- somehow, Andy just understood that the body count had nothing to do at all with the frigid character the press painted the woman with. If Mr. Smelly Breath was anything to go by, that is. 

She groaned as she typed on her laptop.

**From** : panduhhh  
 **To** : coffee_thatsall  
 **Date** : October 22, 2006 (7:25 AM)  
 **Subject** : RE (3): In case you were wondering, I'm not perfect

> Speaking of remorse… I can't believe I'm saying this, but I'm actually glad that I blanked out at that moment. I mean sure the person was very rude, but I think I just had a eureka moment about the place they were coming from, and if I were thrust in the same position, I do not think I would have acted favorably as well.
> 
> So, I think, I’d raincheck on zingers… for now. Can I cash it out some other time though?

She bit her bottom lip as her fingers hovered over the keyboard.

_‘Craig's list murderer,_ ’ a voice whispered in her head that sounded eerily like Anna.

“Shut up,” she mumbled to herself, “You know what? Fuck it.”

> Do you think we should meet?


	2. coffee_thatsall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brief cameo by Mrs Robinson in this episode of "Common People Therapy"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh God! Let me start by quoting from Notting Hill - this is just one of those key moments in life when it's possible you can just be really genuinely cool, and I'm going to fail just a 100%.
> 
> I just sent this fic out to pasture, but it came bounding back healthy as an ox fed by all your lovely comments and the kudos! Hahaha. Man, you are all wonderful! I promise I'm going to get to each and every comment when life gets less hectic. 
> 
> So yeah, I'm gonna attempt to explore this as bid. I can't always assure the quality, but I do hope you enjoy! 
> 
> P.S. There's a huge nod to T&M in there somewhere. Also, a smidge of angst. Miranda is hard to write. :<

On the other side of the city, Miranda Priestly was jostled awake by the bounce of her mattress, and she blearily opened her eyes to find herself flanked by two wide-eyed redheads with mischievous grins on their faces.

“Yes?” she croaked, raising an eyebrow.

“Mooooom–”

“–it's Saturday!”

“Will we? Pleeeeeaaaase!”

She frowned, pretending to give it a thought as she sat herself against the headboard. She tapped a finger on her lips just as two identical lower lips began protruding.

“Well, I have this meeting…”

The pouts were maximized with the addition of two pairs of wider, shimmery eyes. She sighed, the battle already won before she even thought to fight it.

“Oh, alright–”

“Yay!” The twins cheered, giving her matching kisses on each cheek.

“We promise you'll have fun, mommy!” Cassidy chimed, as the two of them climbed out of her bed.

“Wait a minute, no cuddles?” Miranda asked as they headed for the door.

“No time, mom, we’ve got lots of places to be!” Caroline answered.

“There's breakfast at the Boathouse…”

“Then the weekend fair…”

“Then the bookshop…”

“Then ice cream…”

The pair of them alternated rattling off their itinerary until their tiny voices trailed off down the hallway. Shaking her head fondly, she supposed she only had herself to blame for her demanding brood. Miranda got up from bed, chuckling as she went on to shower.

\---

It was only later at the park while they were walking Patricia that she remembered she'd forgotten to check on Stephen. Following that disaster of an evening at Vince Palmer's soiree, her husband might have been gearing up for a second round when they came home, but the moment they stepped across the threshold, she cut him off with a silencing scowl.

“What?” he snarled, shrugging off his coat. She rolled her eyes at the stench of alcohol on his breath.

“Good night, Stephen,” she said coldly, not bothering to chastise him anymore.

“Now wait here–” he might have intended to grab her wrist but he was so drunk, he missed completely, and tripped on the rug instead. He fell with a bang, and she stepped back as he groaned pitifully.

“Take your racket elsewhere,” Miranda hissed, tired of having to cover up for him all the time. Not to mention she was horribly rude to that _shop girl_ earlier, but that was an issue for another time, and she had to get to her girls to tuck them in.

Stephen got up clumsily on his feet, and only just missed swiping off the vase of flowers on the bureau. “Just, sober up, then we'll talk,” she dismissed him, ignoring the baleful look he sent her way. Without glancing back at her “better" half she climbed up the stairs to get to the twins she promised a story to.

She checked Caroline’s room first, as that was closer, but it was empty. Cassidy's was similarly vacated, and she frowned as she stalked to their nearby shared study. Also empty.

“Girls?” she called out, walking to her room. When she opened the door, her heart melted when she found the pair of them snoozing on her bed with Patricia at their feet.

The big dog perked up when she walked in and let out a bark that startled both girls awake.

“Mommy!”

“Mom!” Caroline immediately bounded up to drag her to their midst, and she pressed a kiss to her forehead.

“I’m sorry you had to wait long, Bobbseys,” she said apologetically, letting herself be sat on the mattress and engulfing her daughters in a hug. She tried not to think of the reason why they weren’t hesitant to wait for her in her room. But she knew they were perceptive enough to know about her odd sleeping arrangements with their “stepdad".

“S'okay, Mommy,” Cassidy murmured, burrowing against her.

“We got the book!” Caroline piped in, bringing out a copy of Charlotte's Web.

“We didn't peek promise!”

She chuckled as she pressed another loving kiss to their foreheads. “Alright, alright, let me get changed first, okay?”

Miranda waited for a pair of nods before she untangled herself from them, and went to the _en suite_ to remove her make-up. As she faced the mirror, she let out a shuddering breath to compose herself.

Why did she even bother with a “father figure" when her girls were happy now, with her, and Patricia, just the four of them. A family as they are. She had been waiting for Stephen to step up, but it's only gotten worse. What with the drinking. The affair. She shuddered at the monumental mistake she had made. And as she cleansed her face of the cold façade she always wore, she slowly became sure… _Something has got to change._

When she finished with her ablutions, all three of her loves perked up when she finally appeared in her pajamas, and soon found herself sandwiched between two giggly girls and a cuddly dog eagerly awaiting their promised story.

“Okay, ready?” she asked, there was a pair of nods, “’ _Before Breakfast,’”_ she read the title of the first chapter.

“’ _Where's Papa going with that ax?’_ said Fern to her mother as they were setting the table for breakfast–” there were giggles at her girlish voice “– _’Out to the hoghouse,_ ’ replied Mrs. Arable, ‘ _Some pigs were born last night._ ’"

“But why would he need an ax?” Caroline asked frowning.

“Sssshhh!” Cassidy shushed her.

Miranda merely smirked as she read the next line, "’ _I don't see why he needs an ax_ ,’ continued Fern, who was only eight–” Caroline stuck her tongue out at her sister, who retaliated with a huff “– _’Well_ ,’ said her mother, ‘ _one of the pigs is a runt._ ’”

She read to them with accurate characterization of the voices up until Wilbur was transferred to the Templeton's barn. The giggles became less pronounced by then as the girls became drowsy, and she marked the chapter with the peach bookmark she had been given as a freebie.

“Will Fern keep on visiting him, Mommy?” Cassidy asked, as she ushered them to their rooms.

“I hope so,” Miranda replied, tucking her in.

“I don't want Wilbur to be lonely too!” Caroline said, reaching up her arms for Miranda to carry her. They were already too old to be carried, but she lovingly took her up her child's wiry form in her arms, and brought Caroline to the other room.

“We'll know tomorrow, Bobbsey,” she whispered, kissing her forehead.

“Hmkay. S’urday tomorrow,” the girl slurred sleepily.

“Yes, darling, it’s Saturday tomorrow.”

“ _Our_ day?”

“Our day,” Miranda smiled.

Since Greg, their father, went to Hongkong to oversee company operations for a few months, she'd been letting the girls take charge of the Saturdays they would have spent with him.

Barring any Runway emergencies, or grandparental visits, she faithfully complied with the itineraries they drafted up, and so far, the three (sometimes four, if dogs were allowed) of them, had great fun going to museums, trying out new restaurants. Stephen always begged off to go golfing instead, and Miranda found she was hard-pressed to miss his presence in their little outings. She supposed that was a sign she should've paid more attention to early on.

Donning her robe, she did not bother checking the guest room he was probably passed out in, and went to her study to go through The Book briefly. Tomorrow, she would be sending it off to Nigel for the weekend to add to his responsibilities. A small crumb of the side-project she's been hiding away for the better part of a year now. He really did deserve a raise… but a raise was not going to be enough for the support he had lent her since the beginning.

In the meantime, he will have to train first on how to deal with mediocrity. Until next January, maybe, just in time for the reveal. She smirked to herself as she uncapped her red pen, and dove in.

\---

At around midnight, almost an hour after she'd finished, Miranda lay in bed tossing and turning unable to fall asleep. Since she was done with distractions, her mind finally settled on the _shop girl_ she more or less threatened at the party earlier, and sighed.

 _Andy Sachs_ , that was her name. Surely she wasn't just an _Andy_? Pretty girls, deserved pretty names, wasn’t that why she changed hers?

 _Hold on._ Her eyes widened at what she's just thought of, and fought off the blush that was surely staining her cheeks.

 _What? I work in fashion, of course, I would know what is pretty or not,_ she hissed to herself defensively. And Miranda did know that the first time they have crossed paths.

The bookstore was so quaint, she knew she had to grab a few books for her girls. She was alone during that Saturday morning, missing the twins who were at their grandparents', so she decided to do “Common People Therapy,” as Caroline called it. Every once in a while, she blended in as casually as she could permit herself to, getting lost among the New York crowds, and pretending she did not have a billion dollar industry resting on her shoulders, nor a crumbling marriage to boot.

There were no over-the-top disguises, as that would only call attention to herself. Instead, she hid herself in plain sight, and played the aloofness of city people to her advantage.

That day, she went on strolling at the weekend fair, even adopting different accents as she went from stall to stall. It was a silliness her employees – Emily came to mind – would scarcely dare to believe she was capable of, and she had great laugh just thinking about it.

However, when she peered at the cheery shop girl who greeted her, she realized her jig was up. To her surprise though, after a half a minute of being star struck maybe, _Andy Sachs_ seemed neither cowed nor intimidated by her presence.

The girl did not fawn at her, or genuflect – not that it ever happened before, but Miranda thinks Emily might, soon enough – and just went about processing the purchase like she was just any customer. If she was on Runway business, she would have been offended, but this was an ordinary transaction, and she would not have appreciated a star struck retailer.

 _Andy Sachs_ even cheekily quoted from the book she bought. It was charming, really. And yes, Miranda loved that book too. One of the few indulgences she had as a child born to unfortunate circumstances was reading. And like James Henry Trotter, she wished she had a giant peach to sail away on. Now, after many years of toiling, she did not just have a peach, but the whole goddamn cornucopia to go with it.

So, grateful for the lack of fake courtesy… and maybe just a little bit playful, she looked the young woman up and down appraisingly… and let some of her talent with accents appear. Having croaked out an excellent imitation of Aunt Spiker, Miranda almost laughed at the brief indignation that flashed on Andy's face.

The young woman's “tummy” was not showing of course, but it was amusing to watch her jaw drop. A smirk appeared unbidden on her own face before she sashayed out of the shop more enticingly than she should have.

More eager then to get back to her “therapy,” she laughed to herself as she walked, dropping by a few more boutiques along the way. So rarely was she in a good mood these days, that she even decided to get herself a bagel. She smiled to herself again when she found a light mist of flour clouding the area, reminded of her _online correspondence_ , that she neglected to pay attention to where she was going.

The slosh of orange juice happened in slow motion, she felt her good mood spilling with it. She looked down on the stained hand knit channel stitching of her cashmere sweater with a thunderous gaze. And of course, her assailant was none other than the shop girl. To top it off, she did not know where Roy had parked the Mercedes.

_Well, it was good while it lasted._

She did not know what she'd been thinking when she allowed herself to be led off to the girl's home to get cleaned up. But she also had to begrudgingly acknowledge Andy's quick thinking when she stepped aside to block an enterprising stranger. Miranda supposed that it was enough to tell her that the girl was not a serial killer, maybe.

The apartment was lovely, and if she wasn't irked enough about her sweater, she would have been a courteous guest. But she was not without spite as she left Andy squirming guiltily when she went off to change.

The bath was well-appointed, and she took out the midi dress she'd bought on a whim, despite knowing it was more suited for a younger woman than her. Still, “Common People Therapy” included spontaneity, and she was appreciative of the embroidery, and that's that. On the other hand, maybe she'd call Jenna Lyons next week for lunch after all. An idea was an idea after all.

By the time she walked out, her mood had more or less improved, but her ire dissipated completely when she was assaulted with Andy Sachs' staring. Her irritation was suddenly replaced with a certain smugness. Of course, Miranda knew she looked good. She did not think it immodest to acknowledge that, especially if she worked hard to look the way she did.

But this one wasn’t the clinical gaze of a fashionista, nor the objectifying lechery of an admirer (man or woman, that happened equally). She caught awe in this stranger's face that she could not place, and she had preened inwardly because of it.

 _What on earth?_ She thought to herself. _The girl was half her age!_ Frowning at herself, she raised an eyebrow, and was glad when Andy Sachs mistook it for condescension rather than her self-chastisement. Miranda felt the girl struggling to look at her as she walked by, and she suppressed a smirk as her hostess walked away instead. _Well, half my age or not, at least I still got it._

After reaching Roy, she sat herself on the couch while she waited. When Andy Sachs arrived, the young woman stared again, and this time Miranda fought the urge to just be a little bit seductive.

She had to stop herself from laughing when the girl offered her peaches, it was really hard to keep being irritable when one's assailant is adorable. And to add to that, probably had the same interests with her as well? The collection of Bobbsey twins books was a pleasant surprise, her heart was fluttering uncharacteristically.

Before she could make a fool of herself, Roy had blessedly arrived, and she hurried to the door away from the young woman's confusing presence.

Just as she was about to leave though, she permitted herself a last bit of fun. Her little teasing smirk was back as she looked Andy up and down once more, and smirked when the girl sucked in the tummy Miranda just insulted less than hour ago.

_Adorable._

When Andy sent her the books she'd forgotten with a cheeky Tupperware of sinful peaches, she did not know what to say. They were good, she found, when she discreetly nibbled at them away from Emily’s prying eyes. But her brief cameo as Mrs. Robinson in this episode of “Common People Therapy" was over, and that's that.

She also thought that that would be the last of her interactions with Andy Sachs, but she was sorely mistaken. 

The moment Miranda stepped inside Vince Palmer's penthouse, she knew that it was a mistake. Their host's ex-wife, _Agatha_ , was there, and if Miranda's P.I.’s sleuthing was to be believed, this was the woman Stephen has been – pardon her French – screwing. For eight months now.

She's gotten drunk only once because of this knowledge, and she'd ended up with an online friend to go with it, so she thought it was rather a win. Aside from the obvious thing.

If one walked up to Miranda Priestly, and told her that she would be _friends_ with an online stranger named “panduhhh,” she'd have blacklisted them from the greater tristate area. But the person behind the ridiculous handle was very clever, and Miranda had rather been enjoying the anecdotes they exchanged at random times in the week. This person seemed to keep odd hours, perhaps they were a doctor? Or maybe they were just as much as in insomniac such as she?

Anyway, she did not try to think of what they were like outside of meaningless conversation. The anonymity was comforting, and she was not in a hurry to break that bubble. 

She got up in the middle of night, still unable to sleep, and cracked her laptop open to go through emails she may have missed. Anything, to distract herself from the remorse that has been creeping up her chest.

So Panda, she's refusing to call them “panduhhh” even in her head… Panda has cat named Bunny. She raised an eyebrow, typing in an inane reply about dogs being dumb, but at least they weren't bitchy. But her fingers paused at that word… _Bitchy_. Because wasn't that what she was just earlier? To _Andy_ Sachs?

_…_

_Dammit._

_Fine._

Of course, the girl was just trying to help. Her little performance as fangirl to Jeff Toobin would have amazed Miranda, but somehow she knew the girl wasn't just acting. She really was in awe of the journalist.

_So adorable, and smart?_

Miranda immediately took the leeway _Andy_ offered and began leading Stephen away. She showed him to the bathroom where he could compose himself. And with a cold look she only reserved for her employees, she sat him cowed on the toilet with a stern warning before setting out to make the appropriate goodbyes so they could leave.

While searching for Vince Palmer, she found Andy Sachs in the kitchen instead, and before she could fight the urge, she walked to stand beside the girl.

Miranda wanted to thank her, she really did, for interfering… for the goddamn peaches… But something acrid fell out of her mouth instead. Like Pandora's _gob_ , she was rude and condescending. She accused Andy of being in cahoots with the paparazzi. And the cherry on top? Even threatened her future in journalism.

She watched the girl progressively pale, unable to take back what she said. Before she could ruin anything further, she walked away and went to fetch her husband. She was just so tired of Stephen… already tired of the press once she finally divorces him, and she will. But that was no excuse. She behaved horribly. And she had just emulated what those cockroaches have been calling her all along, “Dragon Lady.”

Sighing, and in lieu of the apologies she should be making, Miranda typed her remorse to Panda instead, acknowledging her hideous attitude with it. Again, she'd been comforted by a sympathetic virtual ear, and she wondered… where have her friends in real life gone? Did she even have any?

It was a restless night until the girls had woken her up for their Saturday. Her Bobbseys were always a soothing balm for all her turmoil. What she did not know was that they'd be the ones who would provide her the chance to make amends as well.

\---

“Man, I'm so full!” Caroline said, slumping on her chair to pat her belly. Miranda raised an eyebrow at her child, who responded with a cheeky grin before correcting her posture.

“Can we make French toast at home, Mommy?” Cassidy said, daintily placing down her fork. Miranda smiled at her indulgently, and moved to wipe errant syrup from the corner of her daughter’s mouth.

“Of course, Bobbsey.”

“Oh man, with cinnamon?!”

“Caroline, honestly…”

“Pleaaaaase, Mommy!” The older of her twins rarely called her that, but when she did Miranda was always hard-pressed to decline.

“Please, Mommy?” Cassidy asked more politely, but with the same cheeky grin as her more boisterous sister.

“Oh alright,” she easily capitulated.

“Yay!” The girls high-fived each other, and even Patricia from beside her water bowl let out a woof.

“Alright, are you two done?” Both of them nodded. Miranda called for the server to get their bill, and while they waited for her card she looked at the girls.

“So, where are we off to now?”

“The bookshop!” The twins said excitedly.

“Bobbseys, you know I could just have any of the books you want shipped…”

“But this is special–”

“– veeery special!”

“Yeah!”

“We'd have to take a cab though!”

“It's near the Fair!”

Something niggled at Miranda's brain at this description, but she let herself be dragged along by two excitable girls and a dog. She did not realize that at the opposite end of the outer patio, she was also the subject of the table's occupants.

\---

After confirming brunch with Lily, Andy left early to go for a walk at the park to clear her head. Had she just been brazen to offer an “eyeball" with her online penpal? Well it wasn't exactly an _offer_ , but more like… questioning the realms of their continued correspondence? She maintained a very steady small group of friends that she's known for most of her life, it would be nice to branch out somewhat.

She was very thankful for Lily, for example, whom she's known since she was five. Sometimes though, she wished her friend were not as blunt, because when she arrived she did not beat around the bush about Andy’s early departure.

“Well?” her friend asked, before they could even get to the menus.

“I just… became uncomfortable, Lils, that's all,” Andy sighed, not really wanting to get into it anymore.

“ _Who_ made you uncomfortable? Because I swear to God if it's anybody I know…”

“ _Everybody knows her…”_ Andy mumbled under her breath.

“What?”

“I said–”

“No, I heard, but girl, there was only one person there who everybody could have known. And I don’t think you mean…” Lily trailed off at the blush on Andy’s cheeks, “You mean Miranda Priestly? What?!”

“Lily!” Andy shushed her.

“Okay, what did the Dragon Lady do to you, because I hear she could be a huge–”

“Don't! Do _not_ say it…” Andy hissed, just as the waiter arrived, “And stop calling her that!”

“Okay. Am I missing something here?” She paused to give the girl their orders, “Because _we_ share _some_ acquaintances, but even I have never even stood within a yard’s radius from the woman.”

“It was nothing, really,” Andy rolled her eyes, “She just walked in to the bookshop one morning. Quoted Aunt Spiker. Then I spilled Anna's juice on her sweater. Then she got changed at my place. That's it.” She took a sip of her water, “Then we met again at Vince's party. Then I sort of interfered with something. Then she threatened to blacklist me. _Then_ that’s it.”

Andy did not have to look at Lily to see that her friend was gaping, but she purposefully kept her gaze away and stared at the lake instead.

“Andy, do not make me ask twice,” her friend said threateningly.

“That’s it Lily, I promise,” she said, “Just a comedy of errors really.”

“She threatened to blacklist you?”

“Well, yeah. But I totally got where she was coming from.”

“Excuse me?”

“Lils, just…” Andy took a deep breath, “Just let it go, okay? I doubt we'll ever cross paths anymore, anyhow.”

“Uh huh? And if it interferes with your interview next week?”

“I doubt it. Totes different orbits.”

At the raised eyebrows which said, _Are you being purposefully dumb right now?_ She sighed.

“Yeah… but y'know. It's gonna be okay. I promise! Now can we just eat?” she said, just in time for her French toast to arrive, “We can talk about this Banksy business instead.”

Lily blessedly let it go, but not without sending her a look that signified that this was a discussion they will revisit later. Andy was glad she hasn’t told her friend of this online chatting business yet, or else brunch would have been a lot heavier than the carbs she was consuming.

\---

Across town, the Priestlys arrived at a street that was increasingly familiar to Miranda, and her heart was thudding as they arrived at the corner bagel store.

“There's a small walk from here, mom,” Caroline said, as their mother paid the cab driver. “That street is closed because of the market.”

Miranda remained mute until her very suspicion was confirmed and the girls dragged her inside the threshold of _the_ bookshop she herself visited almost a month ago.

“Bobbseys–”

“Hey, Anna!” She startled when her children greeted the girl behind the counter familiarly. At first she thought she'd only misheard, but it was indeed an _Anna_ by the cash register, and not an _Andy._ She was not sure if she was relieved or disappointed.

“Hey guys! Didn’t know you were coming by today,” _Anna_ said, high-fiving her daughters. “But the nook’s free.”

“Yay! Can we bring Patricia too?”

“Oh. No Cara?” the girl said, looking at Miranda. The older woman barely had time to be affronted as her girls giggled.

“No, silly! That's our mom!” Caroline laughed.

“Oh, sorry, ma'am,” Anna blushed as she finally rounded the corner to shake Miranda's hand.

‘ _Ma’am ?’_ Miranda wanted to swat the hand away herself, but she felt the prickle of Cassidy's expectant gaze, so she submitted herself to a floppy handshake instead.

“Miranda, call me Miranda,” she gritted out, trying to be polite around the girls. Cassidy giggled at her, evidently able to read her well.

“Patricia’s our dog, we left her outside by the fire hydrant,” Cassidy said, “Can she please come in with us?”

“Oh!” Anna said, peering through the front window outside, where indeed a huge St. Bernard was wagging her tail at strangers, “Sure! I'm sure Andy won't mind. She brings in her cat too, sometimes.”

At the mention of the young woman's name, Miranda's heart started thudding. _What on earth?_ It's unlike her to be nervous about people she has wronged.

“Isn't Andy coming?” Caroline asked, while Cassidy went out to fetch the dog.

“Ah, nah. Maybe Monday?” Anna replied, “She's fetching her mom from the airport later.”

“Oh cool!” Caroline exclaimed, “Hey mom, our friend Andy collects the Bobbsey twins books too!”

She took Miranda's hand to drag her along to this aforementioned ‘nook.’ Which was a cozy sitting area in a mezzanine floor Miranda did not notice during her one and only visit. It was full of bean bags and cushions, with fairy lights strung overhead. She could understand why this would be appealing to her girls.

“And then, her mom's a twin too! Like us!” Caroline continued, flopping down on a bean bag she obviously favored. When Cassidy and Patricia joined them a minute later, Miranda finally permitted herself to sit down beside them, as comfortably as a woman her age in shapeless “furniture" could anyhow.

“Yeah! And Andy’s mom is called Nan! And her uncle is called Bert, even if his name is Henry,” Cassidy continued.

The girls giggled as they took out the copy of Charlotte’s Web she read to them last night, and eyed her none too subtly.

“Really, here?” she raised an eyebrow, taking the book

“Yeah! It's like a hideaway!” Caroline grinned, then lowered her voice, “No one from Runway will ever find you here, mom.”

“Hey, guys,” Anna's head popped up from the landing, “You can get your drinks from the usual–”

“Okay!” Caroline jumped up to thunder down the steps before Miranda could tell her not to.

“Miranda, we have coffee too if you want,” Anna offered.

“Oh, no, but thank you,” she said, growing more and more surprised by the second.

“Alright. I'll just leave you to your book then.”

When the woman left, Miranda turned to her remaining daughter who was giggling at Patricia who just presented her belly for scratching.

“How often do you come here, Bobbsey?” she asked, bewildered.

“Hm, once or twice a week?” Cassidy answered, “Sometimes after school with Cara. Once during an in-service day?”

“I see, and how exactly did you find this place?”

“It was that Saturday you were called in to Runway, we asked Cara to come with to the Fair, and we just stumbled in during Storybook Lady time.”

Since starting this weekend tradition, she only missed one weekend from her daughters, and that was almost three weeks ago. Did Andy know she was the twins mom?

“We didn't mind, mommy, promise!” her precocious daughter leaned against her, and Miranda felt her eyes dampen as she pressed a kiss to Cassidy's temple.

“Thank you, darling.”

“Besides, this just means you can come with us here anytime now.”

“O-of course, sweetheart,” Miranda hardly believed this would be the case, if her behavior was anything to go by, but she indulged her daughter anyhow.

“I can't decide if I wanted the apple or the grape,” Caroline arrived, bringing with her two juiceboxes.

“S'okay, swap later?”

“Hmkay.”

Miranda did not need to ask if Andy Sachs was a friend to her daughters, because it was obvious she was. She was not sure if that was a notion she liked, but this more than anything, made her realize that she really had to make amends, and soon. If only for her daughters' sake.

“Okay, shall we see what happened to Wilbur at the Templetons?”

“ _Yeah!”_

\---

Around lunch, the Priestlys finally decided to move on to the next part of their itinerary, and Miranda took the opportunity to speak with Anna for a little while.

“Girls, why don't you tidy up here, I'm sure Anna will appreciate it,” she told them, taking Patricia's leash, “I'll wait for you downstairs.”

“Okay, mom.”

The front of the store was empty, so she wandered to the back to find the woman microwaving a burrito for her lunch.

“Oh, hey, Miranda,” Anna smiled, “May I?”

At Miranda's nod, she leaned down to give Patricia a pat, who predictably wagged her tail at the attention.

“Anna, is it alright if I asked for Andy's contact information?” she asked. The girl frowned, and Miranda hurried to correct any misconceptions Anna may have formed from her request. “Oh, it’s nothing heinous, I only meant to say thank you for being accommodating to my girls. And you too.”

“Oh, you're welcome,” Anna finally grinned, “It's no problem, they're good kids. I'm pretty sure Nan will get a hoot if she finds out her new regulars are twins.”

“Nan, is… _Andy's_ mother?”

“Oh, yeah! She's coming back next week, I think. Just in time, because Andy's leaving soon.”

 _‘Leaving?’_ she wanted to ask but the words got caught in her throat.

“Anyway, you can usually reach Andy here. But um… would you terribly mind if I ask permission first, before I give you her cellphone number?”

Miranda started pursing her lips at the prospect of being denied, but being rude will not get her anywhere, and even she had to acknowledge that such a courtesy was a good thing to have in friends.

“No, no. I don't mind,” she said instead, unbelieving at how patient she’s being, “Can you just pass on a message for me as well?”

“Sure.”

“Please tell her that Aunt Spiker said to call,” she intended to be more formal about it, but she thought that would just alienate the young woman further? _Goodness_ , _when did she become so unsure of something in her life?_

“O-kay?” Anna said, as if fighting to raise her eyebrow.

“She'll know,” Miranda said succinctly, just as the girls arrived.

“Mom, can we have pizza?” Caroline asked, definitely milking her mom's benevolence this Saturday.

“Perhaps, but then you would have to forfeit your ice cream.”

“But-!”

“Say goodbye to Anna now, don't forget to thank her,” she winked at the woman who also laughed at the girls’ antics.

“ _Bye, Anna. Thank you, Anna,”_ they said in unison. Miranda nodded, and ushered the girls out of the shop while they bickered about the junk food they would sacrifice.

\---

After a healthy lunch of grilled chicken and salad, the clear winner being ice cream today, the girls went up to their rooms for a small nap. Miranda finally took the time to go through her emails, and found a recent one from Panda.

This person was a really kind one… considerate, even to see through the eyes of the person who wronged them. Miranda wished she was as magnanimous, but her reign as Ice Queen has built up many an ice wall that now props up her kingdom. It would really not do, not to be cutthroat in the industry.

She scrolled through the rest until she reached the bottom. And eyes wide, her heart thudded as she read the last part of the message.

> Do you think we should meet?

If she could pull this one off during her rare “Common People Therapy" it would be a feat, but that was virtually impossible here in New York.

And the question came after a crumb she’d left out regarding her gender – the bit about being a “Ms. Nasty” – this could easily be a college kid going fishing. Although, her instincts told her that Panda wasn’t that kind of person, this kind of conversation was not something she'd be interested in pursuing…

 _Yet,_ a part of her brain added unhelpfully. Maybe it's the same part that led her to marry any of her husbands. Rolling her eyes, this was not the time to listen to it now. Or at all.

And speaking of husbands, she checked her phone earlier to find three missed calls from Stephen. A cursory check of the guest room found it to be empty. So she called him back now, nervous about what she might hear. He picked up after three rings. 

_“’Lo?”_

Miranda frowned as she heard the slur in his voice. “Stephen? Where are you?” she demanded, irritation skittering over her spine.

_“Well you told me to take my racket elsewhere so–”_

“Stephen, I swear to God…”

 _“Alright, I'm sorry, babe,”_ Miranda hated that infantilizing moniker, but it also meant he was being genuine with his apology, _“After last night, I called a cab and checked in at The Plaza.”_

She remained silent as she listened to him walk around, evidently just getting up out of bed. She tried to pick out the sound of any giggling or any other person at all, but it was silent aside from his movements, and her heart calmed down just little.

 _“God, did I assault Jeff Toobin last night?”_ he asked, when Miranda heard water running.

“Almost,” she rolled her eyes, “But no.” She listened to him let out an exhale.

 _“I'm really sorry, Miranda.”_ She believed him. _“I guess, we have a lot of things to talk about.”_

“We do,” Miranda replied, heart aching. She did marry this man after all.

_“Right, I'll be by tomorrow. Can I catch you then?”_

“Yes.”

_“Okay, I'll leave you to spend time with the girls now then. Bye.”_

“Bye.”

As she clapped her phone shut, she took a deep sigh, and let herself cry just a little.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!!! Tell me if the time jumps were confusing. Suggestions are always... _always_ welcome.


	3. IMs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> IMs and a Christmas ball

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think I've drafted enough to make this a moderately slow burn? The Ta-Da Moment is to come soon. 
> 
> Here's hoping you enjoy this as well! All mistakes are mine, sorry in advance!

**From** : panduhhh   
**To** : coffee_thatsall  
 **Date** : November 02, 2006 (12:00 PM)   
**Subject** : Work

> Sometimes I wonder about my work. What is it that I do exactly? I'd like to think I’m building up to something noble. But really, I'm just chipping away at red tape and politicking, I don't know if I'd have made enough progress by the time I'm 60.
> 
> I suppose that's very melodramatic, having just started where I am right now. I do small tasks. Well, valuable, but small. And sometimes I wonder, do I do it because I like it, or because I haven't been brave? Yet?
> 
> It's times like this that I miss my dad. My mom is very helpful too, but I think a stern talking to is the kind of advice I need right now. But he's unreachable in some yoga retreat – because that's a thing now, apparently – I just wish I could call him.

**From** : coffee_thatsall   
**To** : panduhhh   
**Date** : November 02, 2006 (10:30 PM)   
**Subject** : RE: Work

> Can I help? What kind of advice do you need? I'm great at advice.

**From** : panduhhh   
**To** : coffee_thatsall   
**Date** : November 03, 2006 (5:09 AM)   
**Subject** : RE: RE: Work

> Yeah? Well, okay. See I've just started at a new job, so I wasn't really expecting responsibility or big tasks just yet. But I’m turning impatient, and I just want to dive in to the grit of it all.
> 
> I suppose that sounds very immature, but it's making me morose at work. I need a change.

**From** : coffee_thatsall   
**To** : panduhhh   
**Date** : November 03, 2006 (6:16 AM)   
**Subject** : RE (3): Work

> Trust me, I know what it means to be impatient. But I also know what it means to start from the bottom. And from what I know, you should take every little experience as an opportunity to _learn._
> 
> I'm guessing you're feeling all but a lackey? Well there's many learnings to be had from being a lackey. Like fetching coffee, for example, it's probably the most menial task one could be doing… but take it as a stepping stone to getting to know your seniors.
> 
> Do you remember what I said about coffee and identity? Well study that. Getting a coffee order right is a way of getting somebody to begin trusting you. Add a croissant, maybe, or a bearclaw. Be thoughtful, be intuitive, be proactive. Those little things will make it easier for you to be remembered. And soon enough, they'll be looking at you for more responsibilities.
> 
> So yes, my advice is this: Coffee. That's all.

It was nearly three weeks after she'd left her message with Anna, and Andy Sachs still has not called back. She had given explicit instructions to Emily to let any call looking for an “Aunt Spiker" through – her assistant knew better than to question her about her preferences and just nodded obediently.

Andy Sachs should ought to know how to reach her, shouldn't she? Having been enterprising enough to send those peaches? Miranda had followed up twice, thrice tops, about any developments before she stopped. She could hardly ask the twins about further interactions at the bookshop, because she had no idea if they'd been… having spent Halloween weekend at their grandparents, and being busy with school projects.

Three weeks became a month, then another. There were no phone calls, no Tupperwares. So, she just resigned herself to the fact that Andy Sachs was just one of those persons the Dragon Lady has driven away. Miranda would think it a smart move too, considering she had just threatened the young woman's aspirations. Still she could not deny she was just a little bit disappointed.

\---

It was another Saturday she missed with the twins, and they were gracious enough to move their weekend outing to Sunday. Miranda had to be at a reshoot of a particularly costly spread, and her presence was needed so avoid any further mishaps.

After a tiring, but fulfilling day, she arrived at home eager to receive cuddles from her children, but no redhead was forthcoming when she opened the door.

“Girls?” she called out as she shucked her coat. Only Patricia finally arrived to greet her, and after providing her with the requisite amount of doggy kisses, the two of them set off to find her daughters.

Miranda found them absorbed in a 3D puzzle at their shared study, bickering over which piece to put where. It was only after clearing her throat that they noticed her, and the two of them jumped up to greet her before immediately dragging her to the table.

“What's this?” she asked, examining the makings of The Colosseum .

“Nan gave it to us!” Caroline said, plopping down beside her sister.

“Well, Nan gave it to Andy when she came home from Rome ageees ago, _then_ she made Andy give it to us,” Cassidy explained.

“Andy?” Miranda repeated with a frown.

“Yeah! You remember the Bookshop, mom?”

“You're still going there?”

“Well, yeah. It's been a while though…”

“I see,” Miranda knew she was growing irked, and she had to step away from her daughters before it showed. “I'll leave you to it then. I'm going to get changed.”

“Sure, mom,” both of them answered distractedly.

When Miranda stepped inside her room, an inexplicable rage crept over her chest. So, Andy Sachs was back… maybe she never really left at all. Well, Miranda was the one who more or less told her to get lost, but she offered an olive branch, didn't she? Only, the young woman apparently decided to let it dry out and shrivel to a crisp instead.

Then again, the girls didn't really express that anything has changed during their visits. In fact, they even seem closer now, what of gifts being exchanged all of a sudden? Miranda supposed she was just paying the price for her bad behavior, but still… _How_ _rude._

This should just teach her all over again that humbling one's self doesn’t always pay off. Besides, why should she bother anymore with that little slip of a person? Miranda had bigger problems to concern herself with, and feeling put out for being turned down was just silliness.

\---

When she had put the girls to bed, after a very interminable dinner during which they told her of their recent interactions with Andy, Andy, _Andy_ … Miranda brought her laptop to her room, eager to unload her irritation to the one person who “listened" to her these days.

**From** : coffee_thatsall   
**To** : panduhhh   
**Date** : December 09, 2006 (10:04 PM)   
**Subject** : Humble pies aren't always that nutritious

> I have just been served my slice, and it was tasteless.
> 
> Almost two months ago, I decided to take a page from your book about being considerate about an “enemy's" circumstances. Well, I just got a “response” today, and needless to say, it backfired.
> 
> As you may have gathered, I was rude to somebody before. But then I asked for a chance to make amends, but this… little slip of a person turned me down without an explanation as to why. I suppose you would think I only have myself to blame for being Ms. Nasty, but really, it is equally Nasty to not even give the other person a chance to correct their mistake.
> 
> Why did I listen to you again?

After she sent it, she went to get ready for bed. And just as she was changing into her nightgown, she heard her computer chime with a message. She went to check and found it to be an IM.

> **panduhhh** (10:12 PM): Hi!

Miranda stared the screen. They have only chatted in real time once, and that was when they've met. They haven't caught each other online at the same time since then, and their replies always arrived hours after each other.

So, why was she feeling nervous all of a sudden? Because an IM would make their interaction more real somehow? At least late replies took away the pressure? Pressure to what?

_Ridiculous._

She rolled her eyes at herself. She was not some silly teenager waiting for texts from her crush! _God_. This was a real life _adult_ she was interacting with, not a flirty schoolboy _._

_Or are they?_

> **coffee_thatsall** (10:20 PM): Hello?

Three dots immediately appeared, signifying that Panda had been waiting for her response. Miranda wiped her clammy palms on her knees.

> **panduhhh** (10:20 PM): I had a feeling you would be online! Hi! 
> 
> **coffee_thatsall** (10:21 PM): Hello.

She replied neutrally, not knowing how to start this conversation.

> **panduhhh** (10:22 PM): Well, how are you? :D
> 
> **coffee_thatsall** (10:22 PM): Fine, thank you for asking. And yourself?
> 
> **panduhhh** (10:23 PM): Fine as well, my Lady.
> 
> **coffee_thatsall** (10:24 PM): Excuse me?
> 
> **panduhhh** (10:25 PM): Well, you're being awfully polite. I have to return the courtesy, don't I?
> 
> **coffee_thatsall** (10:26 PM): Online interactions should not be an excuse for poor manners.
> 
> **panduhhh** (10:27 PM): *eye-roll*
> 
> **coffee_thatsall** (10:27 PM): :p

That was something she learned from her children. _Well._ This was turning out to be easy. Maybe she could finally allow herself to relax and enjoy the banter.

> **panduhhh** (10:29 PM): Now, _how are you,_ really? From your email I gathered you're upset?
> 
> **coffee_thatsall** (10:31 PM): _No._ The very idea. I don't know why I bothered really.
> 
> **panduhhh** (10:32 PM): Well, I agree that that was not nice of them not to accept your olive branch…
> 
> **panduhhh** (10:33 PM): But at least you tried!
> 
> **coffee_thatsall** (10:34 PM): Like I said, I'm never listening to you again.
> 
> **panduhhh** (10:36 PM): Hey! If it were me you apologized to, I would have highly appreciated it! But as it is…
> 
> **coffee_thatsall** (10:37 PM): What, the “high-strung shrew” hasn't reached out to you?
> 
> **panduhhh** (10:38 PM): Oh man, I did call her that didn't I?
> 
> **panduhhh** (10:39 PM): Yeah, let's not…
> 
> **coffee_thatsall** (10:40 PM): Well, if she remains unapologetic maybe she is.
> 
> **panduhhh** (10:42 PM): She's not! I think. It's not like I was expecting an apology from her anyway. I'm probably just… inconsequential in the scheme of her wider Universe.
> 
> **coffee_thatsall** (10:44 PM): I don't know why I had this impression of you _NOT_ being self-deprecating…
> 
> **panduhhh** (10:45 PM): Yeah? What other impressions do you have of me? ;)

Miranda eyed that _winky_ face. Was… was Panda flirting? But before she could be more self-conscious about it, another three dots appeared.

> **panduhhh** (10:48 PM): But no, really. She's this… very important person. And I'm just… a minnow. She's like a White Whale or something.
> 
> **panduhhh** (10:50 PM): I mean, like… not in the Moby Dick sense. I'm not obsessed with her at all. Nope. But more like a goal I can't attain.
> 
> **panduhhh** (10:54 PM): By attain, I mean… not to have _have_ her or something.

Miranda laughed. Does Panda have a crush?

> **coffee_thatsall** (10:56 PM): You're being awfully defensive…
> 
> **panduhhh** (10:57 PM): What??? No!!! Wth

“ _Wth_ "? Was that an onomatopoeia for spluttering? 

> **coffee_thatsall** (11:00 PM): All I'm saying is, you seem to be thinking about this shrew a lot… 
> 
> **panduhhh** (11:01 PM): I told you not to call her that.
> 
> **coffee_thatsall** (11:03 PM): My point exactly. You seem to be defending her an awful lot, especially that it is somebody who offended you.
> 
> **panduhhh** (11:05 PM): Well, I am. So what. That doesn't mean I have a crush on her
> 
> **coffee_thatsall** (11:06 PM): Did I say that?

Three dots kept appearing and disappearing, Miranda had to smirk.

> **panduhhh** (11:10 PM): Well, no. But you implied it!
> 
> **coffee_thatsall** (11:11 PM): Hmm
> 
> **panduhhh** (11:12 PM): Enough!
> 
> **panduhhh** (11:12 PM): You're very mean!
> 
> **coffee_thatsall** (11:14 PM): You have no idea.
> 
> **panduhhh** (11:15 PM): Hmph. I can't believe I thought to check on you.

And Panda did. It has been a while since anybody real or virtual asked after how she was.

> **coffee_thatsall** (11:17 PM): Alright, alright. I will relent. Thank you for being thoughtful. But
> 
> **panduhhh** (11:20 PM): But what?
> 
> **coffee_thatsall** (11:23 PM): One moment, Patricia just joined me
> 
> **panduhhh** (11:24 PM): Hi Patricia!
> 
> **coffee_thatsall** (11:25 PM): She says woof
> 
> **panduhhh** (11:25 PM): Haha
> 
> **coffee_thatsall** (11:27 PM): But my point still stands.
> 
> **panduhhh** (11:28 PM): What point
> 
> **panduhhh** (11:29 PM): Oh… _that_
> 
> **panduhhh** (11:30 PM): That's not a point at all, btw. It was a non-point. Pointless.
> 
> **coffee_thatsall** (11:31 PM): Whatever makes you sleep at night then.
> 
> **panduhhh** (11:32 PM): >:(
> 
> **coffee_thatsall** (11:32 PM): :p 

Evidently, her repertoire of “emoticons" was very limited. 

> **coffee_thatsall** (11:35 PM): And speaking of sleep, I should get going.
> 
> **panduhhh** (11:35 PM): K
> 
> **coffee_thatsall** (11:37 PM): Self-deprecating _and_ petulant. Wonderful.
> 
> **panduhhh** (11:38 PM): Bye.

She smirked at the screen, and was just about to power it down when another three dots appeared.

> **panduhhh** (11:39 PM): Oh!
> 
> **panduhhh** (11:41 PM): I might need advice about a work thing. The thing I was talking about last week? Will email later about it.
> 
> **coffee_thatsall** (11:42 PM): Alright. Goodbye.
> 
> **panduhhh** (11:42 PM): Bye.

* * *

The following week, Miranda was even more busy finalizing details for the Christmas Ball that Runway was hosting. It was conceptualized by Irv, of all people, to champion his pet charities. This year, they partnered with the Met Costume Institute to hold an auction, as such, all guests will be dressing up as any winter-related fictional character they preferred.

And Miranda found that she was actually excited because the twins would be coming with her. The unfortunate thing was that her girls will be spending Christmastime with their father. After having them all to herself for the past few months, she thought it was not her place to be greedy, and begrudgingly acquiesced to her ex-husband’s request.

Greg was many things, but he was a good father, and it was evident that the twins missed him. Miranda was also many things, but she tried to be a good mother too, and always, she will always put their needs above her own.

It did not stop her from being petty though. Because if anybody would accuse Miranda Priestly of being competitive over which parent provided a better Holiday for the twins, she would not deny it. And she sure as hell will win.

Since she was the high priestess of fashion, one would expect her to be discerning as to what her children would be wearing, but she had them pick their costumes for this one, never wanting to spoil their excitement.

Caroline, the more emboldened of the two, wanted the dress from Brave Irene by William Steig, another book recommendation from _Andy_ apparently. Miranda had eyed the _pink_ illustrations critically, and was hard-pressed to stop herself from saying something. But as promised, her only concession were a few alterations to make it more modern-looking at least.

Cassidy on the other hand, was Queen Susan the Gentle. Miranda expected nothing less. Donatella was very eager to design the preferences of her goddaughters, and Miranda was not made privy to the rest of their online meetings, aside from a few suggestions.

Miranda herself was going as who else but Jadis, the Ice Queen. Predictable maybe, but unrepentant. It was going to be a _Statement_. With a capital S.

She feared at first that Caroline might feel alienated by being the only one not from the same fictional universe as her mother and sister, but she was resolute in her choice.

“Besides,” the girl said haughtily, “… blue? For winter? Groundbreaking.” Miranda has never laughed more proudly in her life.

\---

Upon arrival at the venue, the twins were escorted via a separate entrance from their mother, who had to walk the red carpet. Miranda was firm in not wanting her children photographed, and by her costume alone, she knew that the press would have unsavory things to throw around.

When she appeared on the press line, she could almost hear the wave of awe that rippled in the crowd at her nearly diaphanous gown, and intricate headpiece, which managed not to overpower her iconic hair. If anything, it made it even _more_ iconic. She was the fashion world's Polar White Whale – _Is that a thing?_ She was sure Panda would have things to say – And she knew it.

Once she was done with that enraptured crowd, she rendezvoused with her daughters inside, and both were vibrating with excitement at the wintry theme of the ballroom.

“Mom, mom, it's like how I imagined the Yule Ball would be!” Caroline said excitedly.

“Are you my little Hermione then?”

“But moooom, her dress was periwinkle blue!”

“Oh?” she thought about it a little bit, “Hm, how about Parvati?” The twins giggled, happy that their mother indulged in their interests.

“Uncle Nigel!” the both exclaimed, spying the man who was approaching .

“Who are you supposed to be?” Caroline giggled, after they kissed his cheeks, and poked at the pointy tip of his costume ear.

“Why Jack Frost, of course,” he said, bowing down to them both.

“You look like a bad elf,” Cassidy noted.

“Just for that, I'm gonna nip your noses!” He pretended to make a grab at them, and the twins squealed before hiding behind their mother.

“Your Majesty,” Nigel said to Miranda teasingly, who merely responded with a haughty brow. Although she was amused by her daughter's observation, neither would probably recognize the villain from the 1969 Frosty the Snowman TV short her Art Director thought to dress up as.

“Can we explore, mommy?” Cassidy asked, tugging at her arm.

“Of course, Bobbseys.”

Each of them pressed a kiss to either of her cheeks and gave a wave to Nigel before going off hand in hand. The moment they left her side though, La Priestly finally made an appearance.

“Well?” she raised an eyebrow at her second assistant, Amanda, who immediately snapped to attention and trailed after the twins discreetly. Emily on the other hand, went to flank her side, and began updating her on the auction proceedings.

“No flying monkey?” Nigel whispered when they began walking around to greet people of import. He smirked when Miranda gave him a side-eye.

“Don't mix your fantasy worlds, Nigel,” she said, rolling her eyes. Nobody else would have the gumption to note Stephen's absence from her side. Nigel just laughed unapologetically before the two of them turned to greet the Mayor.

It was a good half hour of practiced politeness and air-kisses until she saw the twins appear again. But this time, they were dragging along a harried third person.

Miranda's eyes subtly widened in recognition. It was _Andy Sachs._

\---

**From** : panduhhh   
**To** : coffee_thatsall   
**Date** : December 11, 2006 (12:46 PM)   
**Subject** : You're the best

> So, I suppose you will be gratified to know that while my advice to you did not exactly turn out beneficial on your end, yours definitely has improved mine.
> 
> You are allowed a bit of gloating when I say that “You were right,” especially about the work thing. Y’know, the bit about coffee and stepping-up and learning things?
> 
> Because my boss just gave me a huge-ish assignment. Not yet my goals, but it's something! Now, all that's left is be good at this.

**From** : coffee_thatsall   
**To** : panduhhh   
**Date** : December 11, 2006 (9:50 PM)   
**Subject** : RE: You're the best

> Congratulations! Now, if you could only do away with the self-deprecation, I could actually be happy in my gloating.

**From** : panduhhh   
**To** : coffee_thatsall   
**Date** : December 12, 2006 (1:15 AM)   
**Subject** : RE: RE: You're the best

> Oh god, I'm so excited I can't sleep!
> 
> And fine, I _know_ I'll be good at this. For you, I'll hit this one out of the ballpark.

After nearly two months of obits, covering bake sales, benches being donated, heck even a piece on Salvation Army Santas… Andy was finally given her first major assignment. Sort of. She was made to cover the hearings on a series of small burglaries, and well… she did hit this one out of the ballpark. It ended up on a prime spot on the city pages, and her mom even had it framed to hang in the shop and everything.

She was only too happy to be called in Friday morning by her editor, Joe Hastings, who was very kind to her during the interview, but turned aloof after she got hired. Probably as some form of newbie hazing. Now that she was surer on her feet, after two months, he began acknowledging her again.

“Hey, Sachs,” he said, scratching a pencil on his sideburn as he looked over some papers, “Nice job on the burglaries.”

“Thanks, Joe.”

“You doin’ anything tonight?” he asked without looking up.

Andy froze. As a woman in a male-dominated field, there were two ways she could take that.

“Aw heck,” Joe said, finally noticing that she remained mute, “Not like that. Jeez.”

“Right, um…”

“Delphine from Society is out on maternity, and there's a Christmas ball thing I've got no one on deck. You seem to have the face for it.”

Andy immediately perked up at the prospect of an assignment, “Can I have it?” she asked immediately, too excited to be affronted.

Joe chuckled, shaking his head at her eagerness. “It's yours,” he said, “Keep going at it kid, you'll go places.” Andy smiled brightly at him.

“Now, this thing is over at the Met. It's not _The Gala_ , but since Runway is hosting–”

“Wait a minute, Runway?”

“Yeah. Don't tell me you haven't heard of Runway.”

“Oh, believe me, I have.”

“Good then, so you'll have something nice to wear to this thing? Because Miranda Priestly, oh boy…” he trailed off, as if the name itself said enough. And Andy understood clearly.

“It's an annual Christmas ball by Elias Clarke, and one of their flagship publications host each year. This one's s'posed to be a costume thing. You can read it on that packet Delphine left. You'll be going with Timmy.” 

Timmy was a photojournalist who started around the same time as Andy. So this wasn't a favoritism issue, if anybody was thinking that. Palms clammy, Andy took the envelope Joe handed over and blindly perused the contents.

“So, you good?”

“Y-yeah.”

“Think you can have something for me for the Saturday edition?”

“Of course.”

“Well, get outta my sight then. I'm sure you have dresses to think of or something.”

Andy laughed nervously, and having nodded her thanks to Joe, left his office. Her first instinct was to text Lily an SOS before going to her desk and gathering her things into her satchel. After coordinating schedules with Timmy, she was finally able to leave the building to panic properly.

_Miranda Priestly. Shit._

Thankfully, Lily rang her just as she stepped out.

_“Nine-one-one, what’s your emergency?”_

“Lily!” she gasped, “I have nothing to wear!”

 _“Okay, Andy, breathe!”_ Andy took a fortifying inhale before stepping to the side and out of the foot traffic, _“Now start from the beginning. And wear to what?”_

“There's this Christmas ball I have to cover, Runway is hosting.”

She waited for the pieces to click, and then, _“Ooooooh. Miranda Priestly.”_

“Miranda Priestly,” Andy repeated, as if that explained everything.

 _“Right, so d'you have anything to wear?”_ Andy rolled her eyes to the Heavens and groaned. _“Oh, right. You got funds for this?”_

“I think so? I saved up money from the shop, and I still haven't touched my paychecks.” ¹

_“Okay, I'll meet you at your place. Let's see what you've got first.”_

\---

What Andy “got" was a whole lot of nothing. Aside from the essentials for a small soiree here and there, there was nothing in her pitiful closet fit for a ball. Her mom and Lily were looking at her amusedly when she buried her face on a pillow and groaned.

“Lily, you got this?” Helena said, aware of her daughter's antics. Andy told her of the less than agreeable encounters she had with Miranda Priestly. And she didn't know if it was a mother's intuition talking, but something told her that this night was going to be a whole lot more interesting.

“Sure, Nan,” Lily laughed.

After hitting a few boutiques, and hitting a huge dent to her savings, Andy settled for a black floor-length Chanel number with lace sleeves that was sophisticated enough to swan on.

“Wait a minute, didn't you say this is a costume thing?” Lily asked, when they made their way back to the apartment.

“Yeah, but I'm just a member of the press. In and out after a few soundbites.”

“Right.”

“Right.”

\---

Timmy rented a tux that looked baggy on him, and Andy was glad the staring was minimal when she arrived. Aside from the “you look great"s that they exchanged, it was all thankfully professional between them.

They decided to divide and conquer, Andy inside the ballroom, while Timmy to the press line to capture red carpet entrances. He'll join her later to snap a few of the auction.

Shaking herself of her trepidation, Andy decided to get to the bigwigs first before maybe getting a few words from Miranda herself. She wondered if she could get away without quoting the host, but she knew her professionalism wouldn't let that happen.

After an hour circling the room, she managed to interview the Mayor, the Governor, and the Chairman of Elias Clarke, Irv Ravitz, dressed as The Nutcracker? Who was already red in the face, and halfway sloshed. Andy felt oily just being around him.

There were some celebrities too, and she was glad she'd been saving her energy for Miranda, because at least she was not as star struck when she talked to them. 

“Hey, Andy,” Timmy approached her with a glass of champagne. He shrugged when she raised an eyebrow at him, then both of them shared a laugh. “You good so far?”

“Yeah.”

“Get to Ms. Priestly yet?”

 _“What?”_ she spluttered, choking on her drink. Timmy clapped her on the back. “What do you mean?” _Did he know?_

“Yeah, Runway?” he said, taking a sip of his own drink before he whispered from the side of mouth, “Man, that woman is a _silver fox_.”

“ _I'm sorry?”_

“Have you seen her costume? Dude. Ice Queen.”

“Don't call her that!” she hissed.

“What? I meant that's her costume. The Ice Queen, from Narnia?”

“Wait, really?” she asked, eyebrows raised.

“Yeah, that woman's got balls,” he laughed while reaching for the camera around his neck, “Here let me show you–”

“Andy?!”

Both them snapped their gazes up to a pair of redheaded twins barreling her way. She raised her glass in time to avoid sloshing her drink over the girls, who immediately wrapped their arms around her middle.

“Caroline? Cassidy? What are you doing here?” she asked, smiling brightly. “Oh my God, are you Queen Susan?” Cassidy giggled, and curtsied, “And oh my goodness, it's Brave Irene! Well, the Queen from Brave Irene.” Caroline laughed before twirling herself. “Your costumes are awesome guys!”

“Thank you, Andy! You look really pretty too!” Cassidy said.

“Yeah! But why aren't you in a costume?” Caroline asked, appraising her.

“Oh, um,” she winked, “I guess I'm a black cherry winter tree or something.” The girls laughed, and she grinned at them, “This is Timmy by the way, from the paper?”

They gave him matching smiles, and he offered to take a photo of the three of them. After snapping a few, he gestured that he was going to go around again for a few more photos and she nodded before turning back to the girls.

“Oh my god–”

“–you have got to meet our mom!”

“Oh? Is that why you're here? As your mom's dates?”

“ _Yeah!”_ they said in unison. She smiled at her little friends. They really were good kids, and she was glad that they seemed really well adjusted to their parents’ situation.

“Alright, but only for a few minutes, I'm here for work, and I still have to interview a few people.”

“Okay!”

“You're really gonna love Mommy's costume Andy,” Cassidy said, taking her hand.

“She's the the Ice Queen from Narnia! The crown is sooo coool!” Caroline added, taking her other hand. Andy stopped walking all of a sudden as heart dropped to her stomach.

“Wait, your mom is Miranda Priestly?” she asked, growing paler and paler by the second.

“Yeah!”

“C'mon, maybe you can interview her too!”

Before she could tell them not to, the girls began dragging her forward across the ballroom.

“Wait, girls, I don't think–” the words died in her mouth as the crowd parted to reveal the woman who has been plaguing her thoughts for almost three months now.

It's unfair really. Did the woman have to be progressively hotter every time they encountered each other? Not that _hot_ would describe her in her costume. Because this one was just otherworldly. She looked almost ethereal.

The gown was diaphanous without being obscene, and she found herself trailing her eyes down the older woman's form during their slo-mo approach. It was with dawning realization that maybe coffee_thatall was right. And she did have a crush. Who wouldn't?

_Jesus!_

The moment Miranda's eyes clapped on her… it was sobering. Let’s just say she was glad twins were with her, otherwise, if the costume had powers to go along with it, she'd have been struck down by icicles on the spot.

“Mom, mom, mom…” Caroline was bouncing on her feet.

“This is Andy from the bookshop!” Cassidy introduced her.

Andy herself didn't know which way to look, because being in Miranda's presence after all these months was quite overwhelming.

“ _Andy Sachs,_ ” Miranda finally said, her mouth was bearing a smile but her eyes were saying murder. Andy gulped visibly.

“M-miranda, hello,” she managed, her heart was beating wildly she was almost trembling with it.

“Well, isn't this nice?” the woman turned to the twins, who were blissfully unaware of the tension crackling between the two women, “Did you invite your _friend_ to the ball, Bobbseys?”

She said the word “friend” that made Andy think the girls were not going to be much for longer, if their mother had anything to do with it. _But wait._ She must have known the whole time that the kids were frequenting her bookshop. _Didn't she?_

“No, Mommy, Andy’s writing for the paper!”

“She's here for work!”

“Is she now?” Miranda turned to her again, looking more dangerous by the second. She didn't have to say much for Andy to be reminded of that night at Vince Palmer's when she accused her of being in “cahoots” with the paparazzi.

It was offensive, and that thought finally gave Andy the shot of indignation she needed to deal with the woman.

“Yes, I work for The New York Mirror,” Andy said firmly. _Not a tabloid._

“ _The New York Mirror_ ,” Miranda repeated, “How… _quaint_.”

Andy smiled at her stiffly, determined to just get this over with. “Yes,” she said, taking on a more professional tone, “Would you mind terribly if I interview you briefly?”

And this was the perfect opportunity, wasn’t it? With the kids counting on their mother to be polite?

Of course, Miranda easily saw through the trap she’s set, and after glancing at her daughters’ smiling faces briefly, she capitulated. Andy let out the subtlest of exhales, and began asking her a few questions.

\--- 

_Andy Sachs. A reporter._

Color Miranda surprised. And irritated. Manipulating her using her Bobbseys? Miranda did not know if the girl was smart or just brazen. Surely, she knew Miranda wasn't just going to let this pass?

The editor bid her time, answering the questions Andy had for her. Which she begrudgingly had to admit were concise and thoughtful. Is this what Anna meant when she said Andy was leaving? To pursue journalism?

She must just be two months on the job, but she was already able to come up with interesting points of discussion. Well, bringing up the ethos of some of the charities they were supporting was rather out of point for a brief Society page article this must be for, but still… _Interesting. Very interesting._

When Andy finally rounded up her questions, Miranda knew it was time to strike. Just as the young woman was about to thank her, she cut her off by turning to her girls.

“Bobbseys, why would you like to get a snack? I’ve heard there’s a chocolate fountain.”

“Yay!”

“Can Andy come with us?”

“Oh no, no, I’m sure _Andy_ still has a few questions for me,” Miranda said, beckoning at Amanda to accompany the girls.

“But, I–” she silenced the young woman with a look, “I mean, yes, guys. I promise I'll catch up.” The twins nodded, and went away with her assistant. Miranda similarly side-eyed Emily, who promptly made herself scarce.

Now that they were alone, Miranda finally dropped the scary smile she'd been sporting, and adopted an even scarier blank expression. The doe eyes met hers defiantly.

It was cute. That was her concession. And fine, the girl was stunning in Chanel. Who knew she had something beyond lumpy blue sweaters?

_No._

That did not take away from the fact that Andy Sachs had the audacity to show her face after shunning Miranda's offer these many months.

“You're bold,” she said finally.

“Look, Miranda,” Andy replied, “I promise I'm not here to embarrass you, I'm just doing my job.” 

“ _Your job_ ,” Miranda repeated mockingly.

“Well yes, like I said–”

“Are you just using my children to get to me?”

“ _What?_ ” Andy said incredulously, “Of all the– Why would you even think that? I didn't even know you were their mother!”

“Then what was that little display just now?” Miranda asked, raising an eyebrow.

Andy sighed. “I apologize for putting you on the spot, and I apologize for doing that via the twins,” she said sincerely, “It's never going to happen again.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, obviously, you're going to ask the twins to stop coming by–”

“If you think that I'm going to begrudge my children of something that makes them happy over something so _petty_ , then you're sorely mistaken.”

“Okay, good then,” Andy said, “Because I really like them. And I really hope you wouldn't ask them to stop visiting. Even if you don't like me...”

“Excuse me?”

“Well, you are clearly irked with my presence. I mean, that’s thrice in a–”

“I'm not the one who didn't call.”

Immediately after she said it, Miranda’s jaw snapped shut, unbelieving at what she's just blurted. ‘ _I'm not the one who didn't call’?_ Could she have sounded more like silly teenager?

“ _What?”_ Andy replied, looking bewildered.

“Enough!” Miranda hissed, embarrassed enough already. 

“What do you mean–”

“Civility between us is more prudent, Ms. Sachs, as far as my children are concerned. So this is not a question of whether _I_ like you or not, because _they_ like you.”

“O-of course,” Andy stuttered. “I mean, the civility part, but I–”

“Then you are agreed that nothing more has to transpire between us outside of those pertaining to the children?”

There was a hesitant pause. “If you wish.”

“ _I do wish._ ”

“Fine.”

“Fine.”

“And I'd like my Tupperware back.”

_“Fine.”_

With one last appraising look, for the third time in a row, Miranda swept away from Andy Sachs in a cloud of Chanel No. 5 and disappointment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please me know if the formatting is wonky. And if you have any suggestions, please throw it my way! Thank you all for reading!


	4. Bad smells

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Do you still think we should meet?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again! I apologize in advance because I might have dropped the ball in this one. You've Got Mail canon was just hard to pass-up so I went along that lane. TTYL at the end notes!
> 
> From my draft, this is the last chapter that I want to push forward, and I might still shuffle around the rest of what I've already written. I'd like to thank the people at DWP Mirandy FB group who have been so kind to go over this work and I promise, I promise to credit you all properly once I get a hold of your usernames on here. Y'all are the best!

**From** : panduhhh  
 **To** : coffee_thatsall  
 **Date** : December 15, 2006 (11:00 PM)  
 **Subject** : In Need of Zingers

> I have decided to take you up on your offer regarding pointers for zingers, because I have had another run-in with _Her_ , and needless to say, m0y comeback was lame as hell.
> 
> She has summarily ended our “association" but I don't think there's a fat chance of that, given the ways she has managed to keep appearing. She's like a bad smell! Well, she smells nice, but it's bad!

...

> **coffee_thatsall** (11:10 PM): She smells nice?
> 
> **panduhhh** (11:14 PM): Wow. You are a night-owl.
> 
> **coffee_thatsall** (11:15 PM): I repeat, she smells nice?
> 
> **panduhhh** (11:16 PM): What? I said it's bad. She probably bathes in the tears of her victims.
> 
> **coffee_thatsall** (11:17 PM): Hmm.
> 
> **panduhhh** (11:18 PM): NO.
> 
> **panduhhh** (11:19 PM): >:(
> 
> **panduhhh** (11:19 PM): Are you going to help me or not?
> 
> **coffee_thatsall** (11:22 PM): I don't see how I could help, Panda, seeing as you seem intent on noticing _Her_ fine points rather than the bad ones.
> 
> **panduhhh** (11:23 PM): Well, she is bad. And mean.
> 
> **coffee_thatsall** (11:25 PM): That’s all you've got?
> 
> **coffee_thatsall** (11:25 PM): “Mean”?
> 
> **panduhhh** (11:26 PM): Yes! And rude!
> 
> **coffee_thatsall** (11:27 PM): Mean and rude.
> 
> **panduhhh** (11:29 PM): I'm asking you to teach me, aren't I?
> 
> **coffee_thatsall** (11:31 PM): Let's see…
> 
> **coffee_thatsall** (11:32 PM): I've always found the personal to be effective.
> 
> **panduhhh** (11:33 PM): What do you mean personal?
> 
> **coffee_thatsall** (11:34 PM): Jab them where it is going to hurt maximally. Catch them off-guard.
> 
> **coffee_thatsall** (11:35 PM): Do you know anything about _Her_ that is particularly incriminating?
> 
> **panduhhh** (11:39 PM): Well, yes. But I can't use those!
> 
> **coffee_thatsall** (11:40 PM): And why not? When she has been so unpleasant to you all the time?
> 
> **panduhhh** (11:41 PM): I just can't, okay?
> 
> **panduhhh** (11:43 PM): It would be too personal, and I do not want to reciprocate her meanness with something that is just as mean 
> 
> **panduhhh** (11:44 PM): Or worse.
> 
> **coffee_thatsall** (11:47 PM): Well, Panda, the way I see it, kindness is all you are capable of.
> 
> **coffee_thatsall** (11:49 PM): So, work that to your advantage. I personally do not believe in the school of thought, but if anybody could pull it off, that would be you.
> 
> **panduhhh** (11:50 PM): How am I going to do that?
> 
> **coffee_thatsall** (11:51 PM): Well you seem to be very enterprising, so go… _enterprise._
> 
> **panduhhh** (11:52 PM): Are you saying no zingers? :(
> 
> **coffee_thatsall** (11:55 PM): I’m saying at some point, the Shrew will not be able to resist you anymore and probably just give in.
> 
> **coffee_thatsall** (11:57 PM): Of course, the results would take much longer, and it would not be as expedient as my preferred methods.
> 
> **panduhhh** (11:57 PM): Not a shrew!
> 
> **panduhhh** (11:58 PM): And really? Are you saying I'm irresistible? ;)
> 
> **coffee_thatsall** (12:00 AM): _Hardly._ I meant annoying.
> 
> **coffee_thatsall** (12:01 AM): You would annoy her into submission.
> 
> **panduhhh** (12:02 AM): You're up all night talking to me, I think that makes me pretty irresistible, don't you think?
> 
> **coffee_thatsall** (12:05 AM): Is that all the advice you needed, Panda?
> 
> **panduhhh** (12:06 AM): No. 
> 
> **panduhhh** (12:07 AM): Perhaps you could tell me more about this irresistibility of mine.
> 
> **coffee_thatsall** (12:09 AM): _Good. Night_.
> 
> **panduhhh** (12:09 AM): waaaait
> 
> **panduhhh** (12:10 AM): I just really don't want this person to walk all over me anymore. :(
> 
> **coffee_thatsall** (12:12 AM): Like I said, my method has always been very expedient.
> 
> **coffee_thatsall** (12:15 AM): For example, I myself had a “Bad Smell" I needed to get rid of, and well, they did not even contact me anymore. So if that is the result you want, then I have just given you pointers.
> 
> **panduhhh** (12:16 AM): Oh man, they really didn't call you back?
> 
> **coffee_thatsall** (12:17 AM): Yes.
> 
> **panduhhh** (12:18 AM): Well, I think you're pretty damn irresistible as well, so it's their loss.
> 
> **coffee_thatsall** (12:19 AM): I think a lot of people would beg to disagree.
> 
> **coffee_thatsall** (12:21 AM): Besides, I was rightfully rude to them all over again. It’s easy to see why I can't help myself.
> 
> **panduhhh** (12:22 AM): Hmm
> 
> **coffee_thatsall** (12:24 AM): What?
> 
> **panduhhh** (12:25 AM): Why do you care so much if they called you back or not?
> 
> **coffee_thatsall** (12:26 AM): What on earth are you talking about?
> 
> **panduhhh** (12:27 AM): I’m talking about maybe it’s you who has a crush.
> 
> **coffee_thatsall** (12:27 AM): What are you, _nine_?
> 
> **coffee_thatsall** (12:27 AM): Why do I talk to you again?
> 
> **panduhhh** (12:28 AM): Because I'm irresistible?
> 
> **coffee_thatsall** (12:29 AM): _Good. Night_.
> 
> **panduhhh** (12:30 AM): HAHAHAHA

Andy was not sure how she went into a gala for an article, and came out with a custody agreement. That's what it sounded like anyway, talking to Miranda Priestly about her children's visits. And what the heck did she mean that Andy didn't call? That was totally an accusation that came out of nowhere. Did she mean Andy should have apologized instead?

_No way in hell._

So that's that. Civil she wants, civil towards each other they're going to be. That's fine, seeing as she probably wasn't going to get any more Society page assignments any time soon anyway.

Her editor did like her output, but told her “Maybe more fashion on top of the philanthropy next time, Sachs” – because that's what people like to read on their Saturday editions apparently, less reality more ritzy.

Anyway, she was sort of glad that she did not have to think about Miranda Priestly anymore. Unless something with the children came up. Or if she runs to her again. Or something. If she couldn't help it sometimes, then that's fine too. Life will go on.

\--- 

_A crush?_ The very idea. The girl was half her age for God's sake. And was Panda beginning to become flirty? She had half a mind to stop corresponding with this impertinent online stranger, but then she'd end up with zero friends now will she? _How depressing._

Well there was Nigel, who immediately found her after she swept away from Andy.

“So,” he needled, handing her a glass of champagne. She swallowed it in a gulp, uncharacteristically, which prompted a raised eyebrow.

“ _What?”_ she hissed.

“Don't play coy, Miranda,” Nigel said, “Who was that pretty young thing?” 

“A friend of the girls,” she waved him off.

“Right,” he said, sipping at his own glass knowingly.

“What?” she repeated irately.

“Nothing,” he sighed, before tilting his head, “Anyway, have you seen Irv? I don't think he can crack a nut at the moment, much less chip at it.”

In any case, after another disaster of an encounter with the young woman, she spent another restless night puzzling over her actions. Andy Sachs actually had the audacity to play coy about not calling. She was just thinking of emailing Panda about it when a message arrived from them. And apparently, she was not the only one who had a rough night.

When Miranda left the party an hour later, the longest she had stayed in a party, she tried to herd the girls who were still amped up after all the fondue they’ve consumed. Some insolent cretin soured her already dwindling mood further when he asked after her missing husband, and for the first time in many months, she lost her composure in front of her children.

“Why don't you go back to the sewers you crawled out from and rot?” she snarled before she could stop herself.

Miranda only snapped out of her La Priestly persona when her twins tugged at her arms and led her to the waiting town car. She felt chastened when they remained subdued until they arrived home.

“Is Stephen going to be here for Christmas, Mommy?” Cassidy asked when she was tucking her girl to bed.

“I don’t know, Bobbsey,” she whispered, as honestly as she can. 

“I don’t want you to be lonely,” the girl answered with a yawn.

“Mommy will be fine, darling,” she said pressing a kiss to her forehead. “Mommy will be fine.”

* * *

Monday morning, she called Emily to her office the first thing.

“Is my house at the Hamptons ready?” she asked without looking up from the periodicals that were arranged on her table for her perusal.

“Yes, Miranda, the housekeeper called, and they'd have it ready for you by the time you arrive on Wednesday.”

“Why is there no copy of The Mirror on my desk?” she asked, rifling through the newspapers.

“T-the Mirror, Miranda?”

“How long have you been working for me, Emily? When I say every local publication available on my desk in the morning, I mean _every_ publication,” she said, even though this was the first time she'd looked for it.

“Right. Um, did you want The Post too or–”

“Don't be daft. I said publication, not toilet paper.” Emily reddened and turned to leave.

“In fact, get me issues of The Mirror from October of this year to the present. Have it at the townhouse by the end of the day. That's all.”

When she swiveled her chair to face the windows, all she could hear was a _panda bear_ taunting in her ear, _“Maybe it's you who has a crush.”_

She growled. _Time for some heads to roll._

\---

Just before they left for Christmas at their father’s, the girls begged Miranda to let them drop by the bookshop so they could leave their gifts for their friends there.

She spied them concentrating on wrapping an assortment of presents by themselves Tuesday night, and when she dared to offer her help, she was immediately shooed out of the room.

“Don't be impatient, Mommy,” Cassidy tutted, pursing her lips, “You're getting yours too.”

“And no peeking!” she heard Caroline shout from inside the room. So, holding in a laugh, Miranda obediently went to their rooms instead to check on what they've already packed.

She herself was going to spend Christmas elsewhere. During her last conversation with Stephen, they've agreed on a more or less informal separation. It was him who suggested it, and Miranda had no desire to offer an alternative. It was high time to put the blessed thing to sleep.

Her lawyer has been informed and was already drafting an airtight divorce settlement to serve the man. It was curious how she easily found herself bowing out of this one, but finding herself in the same situation for the third time in a row was bound to teach her _some_ things. Still, there were certain aspects to be sad about, and so spending days to herself during the Holidays was necessary to evaluate how her life was going. It was almost ritualistic the way she finds herself cloistered in the Hamptons alone after these things.

Of course, Miranda was going to miss her Bobbseys. Holidays have been the toughest to negotiate with her second ex-husband during the custody agreement, and having grown closer to the twins the past year just made this one more difficult. She was not exactly an absentee mother when they were younger, but she was an incredibly busy one, and getting to know them better now made her feel like she had already missed so much.

They were already pre-teens, and who knows how soon hanging out with their ageing mother would become “ _uncool”_? Was she becoming one of those clingy parents? _Perhaps._ She offered to drive them all the way to Connecticut after all, instead of having Greg pick them up.

La Priestly was rarely an emotional creature, but with the way things were piling up around her, she permitted herself to indulge in a little effusive sentimentality. Nobody would be the wiser, and she will come back from the Hamptons spick and span, ready to breathe fire in no time.

On Wednesday morning, as promised, she dutifully pulled up her SUV in front of the bookshop. The girls have been vibrating with excitement since they left the house, and they hurriedly scrambled to gather their lopsidedly taped offerings.

“Girls, one moment,” Miranda told them just as they were about to exit the car.

“Can you give this to Andréa for me?” she asked, handing them _the_ _Tupperware_.

“Who's An-dre-yuh?” Caroline scrunched up her nose.

“Your friend, Andy Sachs.”

“Oh.”

“That's Andy's name?”

“How d'you know?”

Miranda felt herself blush. “Didn't you say she wrote for a newspaper? It said so on her article,” she fibbed. 

She did not want to tell her daughters that she spent a night scouring The Mirror for articles written by the young woman since October. At first, Miranda told herself she was just looking for any blind items Andy may have let slip to her peers, but there was none… and so the rest of her scouring just ended up becoming pure stalki– _Reconnaissance._

This was a person the twins were close to, so it is just logical for her to learn things about them, right? Maybe she could even call her P.I. for a background check. At this point though, even she had to admit that it was overkill to do that for some little shopgirl, so Googling will have to be enough. _For now._

Andy was just a rookie, so all Miranda found during the first month were just obituaries and bake sales. Eventually, there was a longer piece on Salvation Army Santas, and then there was also recent coverage on the hearings for a series of small burglaries. And then of course, there was also the short Society piece about the ball, which Miranda suspected befell some heavy editing.

From those alone, she begrudgingly had to admit that the girl was brilliant. And with the way Andy approaches her stories, Miranda could already discern where the strength of her pen lay. _Politics... social injustice. Of course the girl is a bleeding heart._

She scoffed at the fact that the young woman penned all her work as “Andy Sachs.” And feeling dissatisfied, after she was done with the papers, she decided to turn to the internet to do some more _reconnaissance._

This effort yielded a few submissions to online newsletters, some blogs… and then finally, and most impressively, a series on the janitor's union which apparently won Andy an award in a national competition for college journalists.

_Well…_

She'd be lying if she said this knowledge did not give her a little thrill. Intelligence is as titillating as fine clothing to Miranda after all. A little more browsing only served to heighten that, especially when she found that the girl graduated _magna cum laude_ from Medill in Northwestern.

_Oh my, my…_

More importantly, she has finally discovered the shopgirl's name, which was indeed an elegant Andrea. _No._ Not “ _Andrea_.” It deserved something more refined. Maybe French? _Hmm… Andréa. Yes._ She was right, of course, about pretty girls having pretty names—

“Moooooooom.”

“Hm?” Miranda shook herself. Both twins were making faces, and Caroline was shaking the plastic in front of her face.

“Mom, what's this?”

“And it's empty!”

“Yes, well,” Miranda’s blush darkened, hardly knowing where to begin explaining their encounters to her children. Not that she had to. _Anyway_ … beautiful names or not, that particular misadventure was already done with, and the Tupperware was the perfect conclusion.

“Just hand it over girls,” she said instead, “And don't take long. We need to beat the traffic.” They looked at her suspiciously before shrugging.

“Hmkay…”

“If you say so…”

From inside the car, she watched them trot towards the shop, where they were welcomed by a young man who grinned at them widely... _No Anna?_ Then through the shop window, Miranda craned her neck to spy at them greeting an older woman… _No Andréa?_

Feeling vaguely disappointed, she hurried to straighten herself when the girls exited the shop so soon and were back in the car with an assortment of gifts they received in exchange.

What was she hoping for really? That she'd go toe to toe again with the young woman? _No._ She scoffed at herself for the silliness. Adorable and intelligent or not, she was done. _They_ were done.

“Let's go, mom!” the twins chimed.

“Okay, seat belts?”

“Yup!”

* * *

**From** : coffee_thatsall  
 **To** : panduhhh  
 **Date** : December 24, 2006 (10:50 PM)  
 **Subject** : Holidays hollow-days

> “It's coming on Christmas,  
> They're cutting down trees”
> 
> Do you know that Joni Mitchell song? “I wish I had a river I could skate away on” Such a sad song. And not really about Christmas at all. But I was thinking about it tonight as I was decorating my Christmas tree. Unwrapping funky ornaments made of Popsicle sticks... And missing my family so much I almost couldn't breathe.
> 
> I always miss them at Christmas. But somehow it is worse this year since I feel doubly lonely. I need to make them some cocoa... and I need to be around them to know that everything that's going badly in my life will sort itself out.

**From** : panduhhh  
 **To** : coffee_thatsall  
 **Date** : December 24, 2006 (11:25 PM)  
 **Subject** : RE: Holidays hollow-days

> I miss my family too. I was the newbie who picked the short straw for the Christmas shift… but I do have some cocoa, so I'm going to share a heaping virtual mug with you:
> 
> sss  
>  c[_]
> 
> May I ask what's going on badly in your life? Maybe I could help this time.

…

> **coffee_thatsall** (11:30 PM): What are those, ramen noodles?
> 
> **panduhhh** (11:32 PM): Hey that's art
> 
> **coffee_thatsall** (11:33 PM): If you say so.
> 
> **panduhhh** (11:33 PM): I say so.
> 
> **panduhhh** (11:40 PM): So, can I help?
> 
> **coffee_thatsall** (11:43 PM): Shouldn't you be working?
> 
> **panduhhh** (11:44 PM): Here have a fruitcake [•]
> 
> **coffee_thatsall** (11:46 PM): “The worst gift is a fruitcake. There is only one fruitcake in the world, and people keep gifting it to each other.”
> 
> **panduhhh** (11:50 PM): Tell me it made you smirk, at least.
> 
> **coffee_thatsall** (11:51 PM): _No._
> 
> **coffee_thatsall** (11:52 PM): What's the dot in the middle?
> 
> **panduhhh** (11:53 PM): The walnut. Duh.
> 
> **coffee_thatsall** (11:54 PM): I’m allergic.
> 
> **panduhhh** (11:54 PM): Oh.
> 
> **coffee_thatsall** (11:56 AM): Why do I talk to you again?
> 
> **panduhhh** (11:57 PM): Because I make you smirk.
> 
> **panduhhh** (11:57 PM): And I'm irresistible. ;)
> 
> **coffee_thatsall** (11:58 AM): Sigh
> 
> **coffee_thatsall** (11:59 AM): That you are.
> 
> **panduhhh** (12:00 AM): Merry Christmas. :)
> 
> **coffee_thatsall** (12:01 AM): Merry Christmas, Panda.

What was it about two kindred souls who found each other on the waves of the internet? They probably live different lives, different stations in life as the other, but strip away the expectations of society… and you end up with two plain human beings. Just human beings, existing in the same plane of actuality spontaneously.

Perhaps she was being existential, and lonely, and _wine drunk_ , in the cold of the early morning when she typed…

**From** : coffee_thatsall  
 **To** : panduhhh  
 **Date** : December 25, 2006 (2:36 AM)  
 **Subject** : Existence

> Do you still think we should meet?

* * *

“So…”

When she came back from the Hamptons the day after Christmas, Miranda's first order of business was to invite Nigel over for dinner. She was ready to reveal what she had been plotting for the better part of a year now. And this was her one bid for goodwill for the season, so to speak.

“Scotch?” she offered him, once they've moved to the study.

He nodded. “Are you ready to talk about Stephen?” Nigel asked, tracking her movements as she went to the liquor cabinet, “Better yet, are you ready to talk about Ms. Pretty Young Thing?”

“ _Excuse me?_ ” the ice cubes she'd been pinching with a tong clattered on the crystal.

“Y'know, the one in Chanel?” he smirked, “You looked very cozy in the corner there.”

“ _Nigel…”_

“What?”

“No,” she scoffed, “ _Besides, I’ve ruined my chances with that one already._ ” She murmured to herself.

“What was that?” he asked, but the smile on his lips told her that he was able to discern what she'd said.

“I said,” Miranda said dangerously, “She's a rude little nobody, who thinks too highly of herself.” She thrust the glass his way with a little more force than usual, “And no, we are not going to talk about her. Or any of them for that matter.”

“Okay?” Nigel replied, putting one of his hands up while he took a sip of his drink.

“Runway for Men,” Miranda hissed, wondering why she even thought of putting her friend up for this if he was going to be this insolent. If anything, he was going to be even more sassy when he was at the helm.

She watched as he took in her words, eyes widening gradually as his eyebrows climbed up his bald head. And then he put down his tumbler to calm his hands which began to tremble.

“Although, if you are going to remain this impertinent, I don't know if I should,” Miranda continued, rolling her eyes.

“You wouldn't have put me up for this if I wasn't,” Nigel smirked, then he immediately sobered up, “Miranda, really?”

She sighed. “Yes,” she said, “I’ve received the Board's approval last week. The Ball had a great turnout, and let's just say, Irv was more amenable.”

“But, me?” Nigel asked, pressing a hand to his chest. She sent him a glare that immediately put an end to his self-doubt.

“There are murmurs about recession, and still a great many discussions to be had, Nigel,” Miranda said, turning serious.

“You would know, since you've been there when I first fought for Runway. But you have the talent, and the vision, the ‘ _only’_ extraneous factors being the economy, and a male-driven board. And I don't think I have to tell you that being…” she trailed off, gesturing with her hand, angry that this has to be an issue at all.

“Being a gay man is going be a wet blanket for everyone, yes I know,” Nigel completed for her, “Isn't it always?” They shared a rueful chuckle.

“But I'm not going to let you down, Miranda, I know I can do this,” he said determinedly.

“I know.”

They stared at each other, letting that implicit trust simmer for a while before they clinked their glasses together. Neither brought up that debacle with James Holt last year, which resolved itself when the company crashed and burned after only a few months of operation.

Now Miranda was absolved of her scheming, and Nigel was finally getting his actual big break. There were a few weeks during which their friendship became touch and go, but the man had bounced back to her right hand, and she just knew she had to repay him properly.

To her detriment, Miranda had been feeling magnanimous lately. And she identified the source of this anomaly to be that one stranger with whom she finally decided to meet up two days from now.

When she reread what she had sent in the morning, Miranda wanted to take it back immediately. But then again she was hardly one to back down from a challenge. So, why should she be nervous at all? She has faced bigger entities than a Panda bear.

Miranda is not a coward, so she decided she would show up. It was just logical to reconnoiter for a few minutes and then she would see where to go from there. Anyway, she trusts her instincts, and she would never have wasted a few hours every night talking to a stranger if they were purely inane.

 _Or irresistible,_ she rolled her eyes.

Panda was a good person, who oddly made her want to try to be good as well. She has rarely felt that impulse outside of matters concerning her daughters, so this made the matter of the meet-up worth investigating.

Also, Miranda has always been a problem solver, and one such problem she identified were the too many vipers surrounding her at this point in her life. Her solution for this was to have a dollop of kindness every once in a while, and Panda seemed to be a well-spring of it.

If Miranda turned out to be wrong – and she rarely is – she could just as easily destroy their life… Not that she was inclined to. But if the situation called for it, then she has a back-up, as she always does. So, if anybody should be nervous, it should be Panda. Not her.

Still, there was still some risk involved when meeting somebody from the internet. Wasn’t there a Craig's list murderer still on the loose? Maybe she could ask Emily to show up in her stead...

_No._

Miranda could hardly make her assistant privy to her weaknesses, or God forbid, actually believe that she has a “crush". No, it had to be someone else. Someone she trusts. Someone who owes her a favor. Someone she could recruit to spy for her…

“So, can we talk about the pretty young thing now?” Nigel broke through her thoughts, grinning cheekily.

\---

“So, you met this person on the internet?”

After plying her with wine, and against her better judgement, she finally spilled some sensational beans to Nigel. About Stephen, Andy Sachs, and the Panda. It was liberating in a sense, having somebody to talk to after only 50 years of keeping things to herself. Maybe life did begin once you're middle-aged. Only hers was a good ten years off from the average.

They quickly fell back to the pattern of an old friendship… and suddenly it felt like the 80s again, when a self-made young woman, and a gay young man sought to take over the fashion world. Both of whom took to glitz and glamour like fish to water.

They were very responsible of course, but they still had a smidge of fun in their bones then, and attended a great many parties. They did not do anything that could be unearthed to damage their reputations now, obviously. But there were definitely some period specific activities anybody would be hard-pressed to believe they were capable of at present.

She and Nigel were not exactly born into the purple, so in wanting to break in to this new world, they had to blend in… become more knowledgeable of its customs. And once the fun introduction was done with, all of it went to the wayside so they could finally allow their ambition to take precedence.

Eventually, they didn’t just become accustomed… but they even ended up being revered in the culture.

Fast forward to a few decades later, and here they were now, reliving some of those headier riskier times… as a white-haired older woman and a bald gay man, bickering on their way to a meet-up more suited to a younger generation than them.

The gossipy side of her friend was definitely piqued at her revelation. And predictably, he was only too happy to spy for her, just in case this ill-conceived idea went down in flames.

“ _Yes,”_ Miranda hissed, blushing at having to repeat it without the influence of alcohol.

“And now you're _eyeballing_ with them.”

“Nigel.”

“And, what, I'm your back-up?”

“This could be a con-person, Nigel.”

He rolled his eyes. “At least I'm appropriately dressed for the occasion,” he sniffed.

Miranda glared at him when he showed up on her doorstep in all black. Black turtleneck. Black trench coat. Only the aviator shades were missing. He looked like a very metrosexual art thief about to go on a heist, rather than a secret agent, and was just about as subtle as a sledgehammer.

“So, I suppose she's carrying a copy of a book with a flower in it?” he asked, adjusting the black beanie covering his bald head.

“This is not some romantic comedy,” she rolled her eyes, “There will be fruitcake. A book and a fruitcake.”

“But you hate fruitcake.”

“…”

“…”

“You're right–”

“Wow.”

“What?”

“I should have this moment bronzed,” Nigel paused dramatically, “Miranda Priestly just told me I'm right.” She growled before reaching for her cellphone, intent on calling Roy.

“Whoa, whoa, calm down,” Nigel said, putting a hand on her arm. She glared at the hand on her person, and he was wise to quickly remove it. “Don't tell me you’re intending to leave this person in the lurch?”

“Yes,” she said, “This was a bad idea.”

“Miranda,” Nigel placated her, “From what you've told me, I doubt this is some trolling college kid, or some other conman. Woman. Con-person. What do your instincts tell you?”

Miranda frowned as she paused to think about it. She thought about the comforting way she has reached out to this stranger, and the sense of gratification she felt when she managed to comfort them in return.

“That outside of my daughters, this is the most adorable creature I've ever come in contact with, and if they even turn out to be as genuine as Emily's hair I'd be remiss not to pursue a friendship with them,” she said honestly, looking at a lamppost instead of Nigel whose eyes widened in surprise.

When he recovered from the editor's uncharacteristic display of vulnerability, he smiled at her reassuringly.

“Well, okay then,” he said, “What's the worst that could happen?”

Miranda glared at him.

“That I've been duped and will be most likely sold out to the papara–”

“Oh look, Café Lalo,” he cut her off, and true enough, they were already standing in front of the café where she was supposed to meet this person. Didn't they just set off from the townhouse? Miranda became uncharacteristically uneasy.

“Eight o'clock,” Nigel confirmed from his watch.

“I'm only staying 10 minutes,” she said, “I'll say hello, have a cup of coffee, and then I'll leave. I have Roy on standby.”

“Miranda, relax.”

“ _Relax_? Why would I? I’m not nervous at all,” she scoffed, “If anybody should be nervous it should be them.”

Nigel rolled his eyes.

“You will go and look for me,” she said imperiously.

“What?” he said, “I didn't think you were serious.”

“Go look through the window and reconnoiter,” she hissed.

Nigel opened his mouth to speak, then pursed them shut before looking to the Heavens for patience. He was muttering under his breath as he stepped towards the stoop to peer inside.

“All right,” he said, craning his neck.

“Do you see them?”

“Ssshhh.”

“Did you just shush me–”

“Oh wait, yes,” he paused, standing on his toes, “I see him.”

“ _Him?”_

“Hmm, hellooo puppy…”

“Nigel, I swear to God–”

“Oh. But no book,” Miranda frowned at him, “Okay, but who eats fruitcake in a café? You're supposed to receive them as a gift _then_ let them age.”

“…”

“Seriously, the thing would last longer than a Twinky.”

“This is ridiculous,” Miranda scowled in impatience, “I'm calling Roy.”

“Okay, wait a minute. Yeah,” he paused, “Yeah, I see a book. _And_ … a _tinned_ fruitcake. See? That's what I'm talking about right there–”

“ _Nigel,”_ she growled, “What do they look like?”

“I can't see, the waiter is blocking.”

“Is it a man or a woman?”

“Still blocking.”

“Are they young or old?”

“Ssshhh.”

“Do they look… _unkempt_?”

“Oh,” she saw his jaw drop slightly, “It's a _woman_.”

She gulped subtly. _A woman_. Why did that seem to make her even more nervous? A woman is good. Friendships with women are good. Did she even have female friends outside of the industry?

“Well?” Miranda said, willing herself to relax, “What do they look like? Am I going to be part of a knitting group? Or am I going to yoga classes?”

“She is very pretty,” Nigel said, turning to her with his eyebrows raised. Miranda's heart started beating wildly, somehow, she knew this already. “The sweater's horrible though.”

“Well, isn't it fortuitous then that she'll be acquainted with somebody who can correct that soon,” she smiled deviously despite the nervousness that was still building up.

“Well…”

“What?” her eyebrows furrowed, “What is it?”

“I mean, I only saw from a distance but…” he paused to take a peek again.

“…”

“I mean… she almost has the same coloring as that… Andy Sachs person.”

“ _Andy Sachs,”_ she repeated, _“Andy Sachs of the bookstore?”_

“Yes?”

“I’ve been chatting to a person half my age?” she said incredulously. Why was she being besieged with girls half her age lately?!

Well, if she was being honest, she did surmise that Panda was younger than her from the whining about her new job. And Miranda found she was not exactly put out by notion. Aside from the occasional joking, her online friend hardly seemed immature, and they had surprisingly a lot in common.

Maybe could end up mentoring this girl? And besides, it's not like Panda is a particular shopgirl-turned-journalist, right? Panda would not be as irksome as to torch her olive branch. And why was she even thinking of shopgirls at the moment in the first place?

“Didn't you say you had a lot in common?” Nigel asked, breaking through her thoughts.

“Yes.”

“And didn't you say they were ‘adorable'?”

“Absolutely,” she answered. Then she rolled her eyes impatiently, “Why are we talking about Andy Sachs?”

Nigel tugged at his cuff, a sure sign of buying himself some time. She glared at him, then he sighed.

“Well, I'm telling you right now… if you don't like Andy Sachs, you're not going to like this girl.”

“And why not?”

He stared at her

She stared back.

“Because it _is_ … Andy Sachs.”

“…”

“…”

“…”

“…”

He watched as a familiar blank expression descended on the woman's face. Nigel has seen it many times… but the transition from friend to _La Priestly_ was always nerve-wracking because of the carnage that was sure to follow.

“What are you going to do?” he dared to ask, after a prolonged silence.

“Nothing,” Miranda said coldly. Nigel tracked her movements as she took out her phone and speed dialed her driver.

“You're just going to leave the girl waiting there all night?” his eyes widened.

“Be here in _five minutes,”_ she barked into the device before snapping it shut.

“Miranda…”

“I'll be dropping you off first.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I waffled about who was going to discover who first. The first route was Andy and Lily of course, because that would have been comical, but then I thought of the fact that Miranda is a local celebrity and wasn't just about to go meeting up with strangers without doing research first. Also, I'd like to think she wants to be in control?? 
> 
> Anyway, yeah, I'm still hoping you liked this one, please let me know what you think in the comments!

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Give me a shout if this is a plot worth exploring.


End file.
